


Precious Flower(s)

by Unicorn (Jensee)



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Damien is in denial, Domestic Fluff, Gay Panic, Multi, Panic Attacks, Poly fantaisies, Second Citadel (Penumbra Podcast), The Penumbra Podcast Bang 2020, What else is new
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:55:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24253966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jensee/pseuds/Unicorn
Summary: Damien is a knight of the Second Citadel, his word is his bond and his life is his duty. He prays to Saint Damien to fend off his loneliness and fills his days and nights with missions and training.One day he finds a beautiful flower in the jungle, fierce and strong.And her captor.Damien's word is his bond and his life is his duty, but his heart gets filled with flowers and his tongue ladden with secrets.And his dreams with deep, violet eyes.- Or, an AU where Rilla and Arum met long before either of them ever knew Damien -
Relationships: Lord Arum/Rilla (Penumbra Podcast), Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla (Penumbra Podcast)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 54





	1. Getting lost and getting Found

**Author's Note:**

> this started out as a Beauty and the Beast and got derailed quite fast. This was originally intended for the Penumbra Bang 2020 but I guess I missed the posting window and I dont have enough soul left to investigate that
> 
> I'm still finishing my master and I'm struggling to do only that so I can't predict when this will be finished, also because it plotted its way out of my control and its already longer than I thought the full version would be. The first three chapters are ready so I'll try and post those a week after the other, and after that we'll see where I am and in how many tiny pieces my soul has been crushed
> 
> That said, I do hope you enjoy this

Damien sighs in annoyance as he passes what he’s pretty sure is the same tree he’s passed three times already. He’s tired, and he should be closing in to the Second Citadel by now, but the forest around him seems insistent on making him take turns and disorient him to the point he’s not sure he traveled more than a mile towards his goal in the last four hours.

Were he anywhere else, he would endeavour to rest for a while before he tries to go further, figuring his exhaustion cannot be helping his capacity to find his way, but the woods here are known for being treacherous, and he has no assurance his sleeping form won’t make him the target for wild, hungry beasts.

Or worst, monsters.

No rest for Damien, then, even if he feels like the world is swimming ever so slightly in his eyes, and he is starting to convince himself those trees in front of him are waving at him in invitations.

He blinks and the illusion disappear, only leaving him in a cold, damp part of the forest he does not have the energy to wax poetics about.

Never has he thought he would miss his uncomfortable cot in the guards tower so dearly.

But now is not the time to let his thoughts stray, especially if he wants to find his unfortunately small bed before the night is upon him.

He has no doubt it is darker here than it ever is in the Citadel.

He’s resolutely marching in what he hopes is a straight line to the Citadel when he hears a faint sound. He stops to listen, and it sounds like someone distractedly chanting a nice folks song… he can hear words here and there, something maybe about a river.

Almost on reflex, he goes towards the voice. Saints, is someone out in the middle of the forest so near the fall of night? Or has he somehow gotten so turned around he has now reached yet another small village?

His thoughts are interrupted when he reaches a small clearing, and lays his eyes on the woman in the middle of it.

There are a lot of words, big and small that could describe her - entire sonnets and ballads to be written, no doubt - but in his exhaustion, Damien can only come up with one.

Beautiful.

His mouth manages no more eloquence than that.

“Oh” he says, and feels the sound escaping him like an errand beat of his heart, punching out of his chest.

She startles at the sound and whirls around, her basket of mushroom falling to the side as she turns on him, her small knife pointed directly at his chest.

“Who are you?”

Damien’s eyes widen and he holds his hands up immediately.

“Oh! I mean no harm: I’m Sir Damien: a knight of the Second Citadel, sworn to protect and serve. I’m sorry if I have frightened you.”

The words don’t seem to appease her, and Damien is careful not to move threateningly as she studies him. The defiance comes as no particular surprise: while he endeavours to respect the knight’s duties to the letter, he knows that is not the case of every knight under the authority of the Queen, and it has happened once or twice that some common folks have had less than positive encounters with the guards.

She’s even more beautiful with the light hitting her at it does wearing her guarded expression. Her long braid is embedded with fresh, pale blue flowers who shine softly over the lustrous dark of her hair. Some rebellious strands have escaped their gleamering prison and they gently come to rest around her face, caressing her cheeks like Damien already longs to do. The hand holding her knife is sure and steady, and her arms speak of labour and effort, while the stance she’s set in is one of a queen leading her troops to battle.

She looks like a goddess, ready to strike him down and deliver her divine judgement, and as Damien’s heart bangs on his ribs in the hopes to be delivered, he doesn’t know whether he wants to be found guilty or innocent.

Then the moment pass, and the woman lowers her knife.

“A knight of the Citadel. I see. And what are you doing here?”

“I am merely crossing the woods to go back to the Citadel, after a long and arduous mission that has taken me far and wide, leaving me tired and a bit confused as to my whereabouts, I must admit.”

The woman raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“So… you’re lost.”

“Well-“ Damien sigh inwardly, hoping he doesn’t look quite as foolish as he feels, although it is probably too big a wish to be granted. “Yes. I rather am.”

“Alright. Well, it’s pretty simple then. You are in the Eastern wilds, and you’re not all that far from the Citadel. You just have to go west, follow the dog’s paw in the sky when night falls, or left from the patterns of moss on the trees and you should get there in two hours.”

She points the direction to him in a rehearsed tone, her guard slowly slipping from her limbs as she gets back to putting the spilled mushrooms back in her basket. Damien looks in the direction she just advised him to take, and then back at her. It is, after all, almost night, and it is his knightly duty to protect the citizen from all parts of the kingdom. Even if his heart wasn’t eager to expose itself to her light, he couldn’t, in good conscience, leave her on her own.

“Um, but… milady?”

She raises her head towards him, looking distantly wary again.

“I should probably accompany you home. Night will soon be upon us and those are dangerous woods.”

She stares him down, her basket held firmly against her hips.

“That’s very kind of you, sir knight, but I assure you I don’t need it. I know these woods well, and I live close by. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“But!” Damien protests heartily “It is known there are beasts roaming those woods at night, and it is my duty as a knight to protect every person that might need it. I could never forgive myself if you happened to need assistance and couldn’t get it because of my laziness.”

“I really don’t need-“

“I must insist!”

Her mouth curls in an annoyed twist, and she looks as though she's ready to draw her blade again, but instead she sighs with resignation.

“You really don’t quit do you?”

“Not when the fate of those I have sworn to protect is at stake, no!”

She turns away to get back at her mushrooms.

“Fine, then. Since you’re here, I’ll use your protection – the word is spat out unkindly, but he tries not to take offense – to get some more herbs. I hope that’s fine with you, mister Knight of the Citadel.”

Damien forces his lips to stay still, despite the burning need he has to ask she refer to him by his name. It seems she already thought his protection a burden, and while he would not renounce her safety, it seems wise not to inconvenience her any more than he already has.

“Yes, milady.”

“Well then,” she gets up, leaving behind a patch of grass devoid of the white shapes she’d been collecting. “Let’s go, shall we? And if you would mind dropping the milady… I’m hardly one of those stuffy court lady who are too afraid of the sun to ever step outside”

“I- Well- That is… You didn’t grace me with your name.”

The sentence gives her pause.

“That I didn’t.” She gives him an indecipherable look, before letting out a little sigh. “You can call me Rilla.”

“Lady Rilla,” Damien enthuses with a smile “that is a beautiful name, and one I shall remember.”

“Right.” Rilla says abruptly, turning around. “I’m going now,” she throws over her shoulder, her pace already quick and sure, “if you really want to offer your protection to me.”

“O-Of course!”

He follows her lead hastily.

* * *

“Lady Rilla?” Damien asks quietly.

They found themselves deeper into the forest, near a small lake on the shorelines of which grew an impressive diversity of plants. Most of those, Damien had never seen: some had striking, colorful petals which shone faintly in the light of the rising moon, and some other looked as black as night, their head sadly hanging down towards the ground as the sun ceased to grant them its magnificent light. It was a beautiful, mesmerizing sight, even at night as Damien tried to listen to all the sounds in the woods, on high alert for something, anything to come attack them. If anything or anyone came, they had better be ready for his diamonds and his blade, because he wouldn’t hesitate to use them to defend the most beautiful flower of them all, the gentle lady Rilla he’d just met.

She wasn’t saying anything to him, though, and hadn’t since he’d followed her to this beautiful clearing. She was picking up flowers, with a precision that looked rehearsed but that he couldn’t parse himself. By now, the night had completely fallen, and Damien could only see black and white shapes as they were illuminated by the moon, and the circle of brightness Rilla had made by starting a small, controlled fire near the water.

She’d amassed quite a load already.

“Yes?” she says without looking from her flower picking. She’s been fiddling with the one she has in her hand for a while now, using a string to apparently bind the stem in a specific way so the petals of the flower couldn't open the way they normally would. Damien doesn’t think he’s ever seen something like this.

“Could I maybe help with your work? It is getting late.”

It’s too dark for him to decipher the look she sends him, but after a second of hesitation, she nods.

“Actually, it would be very helpful if you could pick up blue laminaes for me. They’re blue, with rather long petals hanging down. I need a dozen of them.”

Damien nods with enthusiasm and gets to work, browsing the flowers by the water. He spots some flowers that seem like they could correspond to what Rilla described. The faint illumination isn’t enough for him to distinguish its color with certainty, but it looks blue enough to him. The petals seems like they could be long enough.

He takes one and sniffs it. The smell is somewhat pleasant, spicier than he would have exp-

He sneezes loudly, the movement hurting his temple.

“Bless you” says lady Rilla, now standing close by. She’s holding her basket high on her hips. It looks heavy. Damien tries and blink to chase the blurriness away from his eyes. It doesn’t work. “Have you found the blue laminae?”

“I think” Damien tries to say, but the sound coming out of his mouth is garbled and wheezy. He sneezes again, and it makes his head poud even harder than before, as if Angelo had ued his head as a training dummy.

“What did you- that’s not a laminae!”

The world around him is turning at high speed, and he fears he might fall, gravity pulling him dangerously to the side.

“Sir knight, did you smell that plant? Sir Damien?!”

She called my name! Damien thinks nonsensically before the light goes off.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

Damien passes out.

* * *

He comes to to the sound of birds chirping, a high and happy sound.

His head hurts.

The room around him is dark and cluttered. Looking down, he can see a small window from which a beam of sunlight is poured into the space, not doing much to quite liven up the rest of it. 

There’s an opening on the other side, covered by a dark curtain hanging down to the floor. Next to it is a hook from which are hanging several coats and capes. There, Damien recognizes the dark, simple cape Rilla had been wearing the previous night.

Or was it the night before that? How long had he been unconscious? What had this flower been? And how had Rilla brought him here? Had she been the one to drag him through the woods? Alone and defenseless?

He tries to call for her, but the house stays silent. Next to the bed was a chair and a little bedside table, on which were sitting a rough, thick cloth and a metal cup. Has this been the antidote to whatever plant he’d intoxicated himself with?

Damien tries to get up, but as soon as his head disconnects from the warm bed, a sharp pain blinds him, and he shakily drops back down, closing his eyes to lessen the strain.

He wakes up again as a warm, soft cloth is dragged over his brow.

Rilla smils down at him, looking gently exasperated with him. It's a look Damien know well from the various scraps he gets himself in. The nurses back at the Second Citadel have always been charming, he's sure, but they've got nothing on the warm glow emanating from his current caretaker.

“Hello, sir knight. Feeling better?”

He smiles tentatively back.

“Much better, milady. Dare I assume you had something to do with it?”

“I did! Are you feeling any pain? It should be dissipating by now but you still have some of the poison in your system.”

“Not at all! You did an excellent job, milady! I’m feeling perfectly fine!” He tries to sit up to prove his point but the pain between his temples sharpens again, and he has to let out a sharp breath at the strain.

“Right.” Rilla says, stern and unimpressed. “You’re definitely staying in bed.”

“I assure you, milady-“

“Damien, is it?” She interrupts him, and there it is again, an imperious, severe gaze, worthy of a queen.

Those eyes aren't ones Damien is eager to cross.

“Yes, milady.”

“Well, Damien. As your doctor, I am ordering you to stay in this bed until I’m done treating you. And you should know I have restraints for difficult patients. Is that clear?”

Damien feels like a scolded child, and he can feel his cheek heat at the reprimand.

“Yes, mi-“

She sends him another sharp look.

“Yes, doctor.”

“That’s better.” Her stern expression morphes into gentle, if somewhat distant, concern. “You still have to rest for a whole day before I can release you. You managed to breath in a lot of that poison.”

“Can I ask… milady, what happened? Surely you didn’t knowingly ask me to search for a poisonous flower.”

She looks back warily.

“Of course not. You simply found the wrong strand. The black gloriosa can be extremely dangerous, and you’re lucky I had so many flowers at my disposition to make an antidote.”

“Oh.”

“Yes “Oh”. So now, take your broth and rest. You still have to sweat the rest of it out, and I’ll send you on your way tomorrow.”

Damien looks dumbly at the bowl she thrusts into his hand before slowly taking it. The woman hastily gets up, striding to a corner set up with a table and what looked like alembics and test tubes. She takes hold of an instrument, and immediately begins fiddling with something on the table, the angle forbidding Damien to see what she's doing from where he's resting. He looks at her as he gulps down the antidote she’s made for him. It has a strong, bitter taste, sweetened with honey and what he has to assume must be some edible flowers and fruits. It doesn't taste incredibly good but it doesn't taste foul either, and he has to appreciate the lady’s effort to make the ingestion as painless as possible.

“Um, Lady Rilla?”

“Yes?” she says, without looking away from her experiment.

“Thank you for saving my life.”

She huffs a derisive snort, throwing a quick glance his way before returning to her observations.

“What kind of doctor would I be if I left you to die in the wilds?”

Damien chuckles softly, admiring her as she keeps on working. The sun hits her skin gently when she leans over the table to frown at her experiments and mark something down on a parchment. Her dark skin looks warm and soft, her expression concentrated with the occasional raised eyebrows. She fidgets and talks under her breath as she works, and more than once has to get up and leave the room, stepping back through the curtain with a heavy book in her hand, or to select a flower from the bundle she’d apparently managed to get the night before, despite Damien’s intervention and subsequent illness.

He watches her with eyes half-lidded, half-awake and ready to sink into a resting sleep.

“Lady Rilla?” he ends up asking softly.

“Yes?”

“You seem like a very talented doctor. Have you never thought of going to the Second Citadel to use its resources and deepen your talents?”

She pauses in her observation to look at him, and the light from her sole windows decorates her face with stark shadows.

“You should sleep, Damien.”

And so he does.

* * *

He wakes up again to Rilla depositing another bowl full of broth on his bedside. She helps him get settled more comfortably against the pillow and they ate together, he, his concoction of medicine and honey, and her what smells like some kind of delicious soup.

“So, how does one become knight of the Citadel?” Rilla finally asks, breaking the somewhat awkward silence.

“Oh! I believe there are many paths one can follow to attain such a title! I myself trained with that sole goal, as becoming a knight has always been my dream!”

Rilla shoots him a disbelieving look.

“Really? What’s so interesting to work under the command of the Queen that you would dream of it?”

“Being a knight is about protecting the citizen of the kingdom and the Second Citadel! It’s a duty I couldn’t be prouder of!”

Her expression stays a tad skeptical but a soft smile graces her lips at his words.

“Well that does seem to be a worthy goal. And you never wanted to do anything else?”

“I did, but I assure you I didn’t need to abandon my calling to devote myself to my passion, milady! The words as they are cannot be contained by my passionate heart, and I couldn’t repress them would I want to.”

“Words?” and she is smiling fully now, the expression open and gentle, a beautiful contrast to the stern posture and words she’s addressed Damien with previously. There is a poem to write about that smile, that soft curve of her lips that could either scorn or praise, like the gentle petals of a rose made dangerous by the sharp thorns hiding on its stem. A rose both able to charm you or stab you into submission. Damien’s beating heart sends warmth to his core and his cheeks, and he can feel himself blush under the frank gaze of the tranquil goddess by his bedside.

“Words,” he repeats, feeling the word shake nervously as it pushes past his lips, “I am known for my words as much as my bow, if not more, milady, as I am a poet.”

“A poet! I see!” Her tone is light and teasing but her eyes smile with kindness, and once again Damien feels his heart swell with a burgeoning love for this incredible lady. “And do you have any piece to grace me with, since I find myself in the presence of such a notorious patient?”

“ _Oh_ , um well, if it is for your pleasure…” Damien’s eyes eers to the flowers still by her work bench, the shiny curves of her braid, the gentle line of her proud jaw… “I could-”

There is a strange sound just outside the house, like the sound of several feet stepping all at once on a haystack, but softer, and a velvet, gentle voice carrying a few bars of a song Damien doesn't know.

Rilla’s eyes widen at the sound.

“Mila-”

She silently pushs her hand against his mouth to keep him from talking, and mouths “Quiet” with a warning glance when he tries to protest.

“Amaryllis?” A call comes from outside, but it's an entirely different voice than the one Damien has heard instants earlier. It's deep and raspy, rattling and hissing like a serpent with a cough.

It sounds entirely inhuman.

“I’m here!” The lady calls back, with a last warning glance at Damien. She stands up swiftly, leaving her bowl by Damien’s bedside. “Don’t come in! I’m working on something and you’d only have snooty commentaries to make!”

She takes her coat and puts it on, quickly taking a piece of paper as she does and scribbling something on it, before handling it to Damien with another stern stare and going to the other room, carefully covering the hole with its curtain.

_Stay quiet and wait here. I’ll be back._

Damien frowns at the paper, an icy feeling creeping up in his chest where there had only been warmth moments ago. That voice he’d heard outside…

The front door opens, and the voice again, clearer this time, although it does nothing to alleviate its monstrous quality.

“Rilla, I-”

The door shuts before any other words can be heard.

Damien stays on the bed, alert, trying to strain his ears to hear more. But the voices are too soft and far away now, muffled by distance and the walls of the little house. What is this beast, who so casually comes to threaten such a beautiful lady in her own home? And it seems like this isn't the first time - or even the second - this has happened… Is Rilla being threatened? Living in fear of a monster imposing its reign of terror over her tranquil part of the woods? She had avoided the question of her installing a practice in the Second Citadel… Could that be because she was kept a prisoner here? Forced to obey to the whims of a vile creature?

That last thought sends a spike of cold in Damien’s heart. To imagine such a beautiful, kind, imperious lady being reduced to the mere servant of a terrible monster puts the seeds of a terrible anger in his heart. This is an injustice he couldn’t suffer to see! This monster who had imprisoned his lady in such a way deserved for justice to be swiftly served in the form of Damien’s carefully sharpened arrows.

She had told him to stay put and not make a noise, surely out of fear that her saving a knight - even simply an human, most likely - would anger the beast and see her harmed, but Damien could be covert when he needed to be. He wasn’t the trusted knight of the Queen alongside Angelo without reason after all. He would spy this beast’s whereabouts with enough discretion Rilla wouldn’t suffer any fallout from his actions and once he was recovered, he would rid her of her plague for ever.

He lets himself an instant to think of her expression as she learns he’s freed her of her torment, her smart smirk softened in a moment of joyous relief, and her eyes full of mirth once she realizes she is free. Then would be the time for Damien to reveal his poem, made of her many perfections and the flowers she surrounded herself with.

But now wasn’t the time for dreaming. Not until he’d actually liberated Rilla from her oppressor.

Slowly, silently, he stands up from the bed. Actually pushing up on his feet made him feel dizzy for a second - maybe Rilla had been right to force him to lay in bed that first time he’d tried to get up - but he catches himself with no further problem and feels steady enough to take careful steps towards the curtains separating the two downstairs rooms. He sneaks silently and quickly through the opening, making sure to replace the curtain the way it had been before.

The other room was roughly the same size as the one Damien had woken up in, but he didn’t waste any time admiring it. Fairly close to the wooden door that served as the main entrance, was a small window, with a thick, greenish glass. The view from it was clear, though. Damien creeps closer, making a small detour to make sure he couldn't be seen in the house by whoever might be watching, and risks a glance outside.

He spots Rilla easily: she is a dozen yards away, standing beyond the clearing in which the house is seated, at the edge of the woods. She is talking to another figure, and upon seeing it, Damien’s breath catches in his throat.

The monster is a hulking beast, at least two heads taller than Rilla - who isn't all that shorter than Damien himself - and only looks human in the way it stands on two legs. But istead of two arms it has four arms of them, a pair crossed against its large chest, and another waving through the air, the shining claws at the end of its hand much too close to Rilla’s body for Damien’s comfort. The monster is speaking, and Damien looks on, horrified, as it opens a snout like mouth full of sharp teeth, seemingly to snap at Rilla about something. It has a scaly, hard-looking body, and even if its face is too alien to Damien for him to decipher its expression, it does not look like it was having a nice or calm conversation with Rilla.   
Is it threatening her? Damien has been instructed by Rilla not to make himself noticeable, and he will honour her wishes as much as he can, but if this beast tries to hurt her… he won't be able to just stay aside.

The monster seems to stop talking, instead listening to what Rilla is saying. Damien can't see her face, turned away from the opening he is watching the both of them out of. He feels his blood boil as he sees the beast take hold of one of the lady’s hand, and crowding closer to her. What is it doing to her? How does it dare approach such a beautiful, fierce lady? How does it dare impose its will on her in this manner?! Damien will-

He jumps as the monster suddenly looks in his direction, striking, violet eyes turning sharply towards the window. Damien quickly movs out of the way, hoping it hasn’t seen him.

He can feel his heart beating in his chest like thunder, his breast hurting with the vigor of the organ. He tries to strain his ears again, but he can only hear a low murmur of voice, light enough that it can only be Rilla. After a full minute, he finally risks looking again, to see the monster starts to turn away from Rilla. Quickly, Damien turns back on his heels to return to the room where he was supposed to be resting. He is barely in the bed that he hears the door to the house open, and Rilla enters her home with a sigh. Damien closes his eyes and pretends to have fallen into a dazed slumber while Rilla was out of the house, but he can't stop his eyes from flickering open as soon as she pushes the curtain open.

“Another client.” She says curtly before Damien can ask any question.

“Oh… That- You must be very famous indeed for your art in this part of the country!” Damien fumbles with his words, the easy atmosphere of before now heavy and gloomy.

Rilla pauses an instant, looking at him with a long, contemplative gleam in her eyes.

“I suppose so.”

She turns away from him, concentrating back on her work with the flowers, and completely ignoring Damien.

* * *

It can't have been longer than an hour, although Damien feels dreadfully bored, when she suddenly gets up again, and tugs on Damien’s shoulder to stir him of his pretend slumber.

“Alright, Sir Knight. Time for you to get discharged.”

From what she told him this morning, she's ready to let him go much earlier than what she originally said. But she obviously looks agitated, and Damien does't want to spook her more than she already is, so he says nothing.

She rests a hand on his forehead for an instant, and seemingly satisfied, gestures for him to get up. She then proceeds to ask a series of question: is he dizzy? Uncomfortably hot or cold? the whole examination barely lasts five minutes, before she tells him he should be fine, and only needs to get home to a warm bed and take it easy for a day or too. It felt like time was accelerated as Damien gathers his things and readies himself for his trip back to the citadel. He dearly wants to stay some more at Rilla’s side, but she hadn’t extended any invitation in that regard, and overstaying his welcome wouldn’t have endeared him to her heart, so Damien reluctantly complied with the quick dismissal.

“There you go,” Rilla says at last, giving him a small loaf of bread and a lantern as they part way. If you go in this direction, you should find a path. Take it in direction of the South, and you’ll find yourself at the Citadel in under two hours.”

Damien bows with a regretful smile.

“Thank you Milady. I’ll take my leave b-”

“Damien.” Rilla cuts in. Her voice is hard and the eyes she lays on him are determined. “I know you’re a knight of the Citadel. And while that isn’t necessarily a title I trust, I believe you wear it proudly and with compassion.” She pauses an instant, her face bathed in the orange light of the sunset. She has a quiet determination written in the lines of her face, and Damien’s admiration was battling with her calling of his duty. “I’m sure you mean well, but whatever you do, my business is my business.”

“Rilla-”

“I don’t know what you think you know.” she talks over him, and her voice and eyes are hard once again, so much so that Damien is a bit surprised she isn't threatening him with a dagger again. “But I would appreciate you not reporting it to the Citadel.”

“If you’re in danger-”

She looks at him with wide, incredulous eyes, before they go soft again.

“I am not in any danger, Damien. There is no danger for me in these woods.”

The words are gentle but firm and final, and Damien knows he can't dispute them. Not right now, at least. She has to have a reason for which she doesn't want the Citadel to know of her predicament.

“Rilla… I-”

She doesn't resist when he - as gently as he can - takes her hand, although she looks surprised at the gesture.

“When can I come see you again?”

“Damien…” She smiles, but it is soft and sad, and Damien feels a piece of his heart break away when she takes her hand back, slowly, like the tranquil but inescapable push of the tide. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Oh.”

She gives him a tight smile.

“Farewell, Damien.”

And before he can protest any further, she turns away and marches right back into her home, not looking back when she throws open the door and closes it with a rather loud ‘bang’.

“Farewell, Milady,” Damien murmurs, alone in the clearing.

He has to close his eyes an instant and let the pain of his torn heart wash away over him, but if Rilla doesn't want to see him again, she probably doesn't want him loitering outside her home either. 

With feet like lead and tears barely contained, Damien starts in the direction of the Citadel.

Every steps away from her felt like they were tearing a bit of his heart away, but he only dabbled away the tears in his eyes and carried on.

To the Citadel.


	2. On the feelings of Beasts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wild plot appears
> 
> sorry this took longer than I thought and said it would. For some reason I thought the previous chapter was corrected when I posted it, and only realized after that... that wasn't the case. This one I did correct, because I suddenly have some energy to write! yay \o/ maybe crushing anxiety does not help with creative endeavours uh.
> 
> Anyways I hope the enjoy the introduction of angst.

Rilla slumps back against the door, relieved to see the human finally leave. It has been surprisingly hard to bid him goodbye and put him on his way. It would be a lie to say Rilla doesn't know what had gotten over her. The knight had had charming manners ever since she’d talked to him in the forest. She hadn’t intended for him to poison himself, only to find a plant that would make him drowsy enough he would think her a dream. But even her distaste for the Citadel hadn’t hardened her heart enough that she could just abandon him to his fate. After that, it was easy to gather the strength of the trees so they could help her carry him to her hut. Arum didn’t have to know a thing, and even if he figured it out, he could be mad all he wanted, he couldn’t bedrugde her doing her job, even if neither of them would have quite expected to help a knight of all thing.

He hadn’t been like she’d expected him to be, either. Soft-spoken, gentle, with an easy, beautiful smile. Charming and able to weave words and stories with ease and glamour. If she just had had a little more time, maybe she would even have tried to convince Arum to meet him, to talk to him…

She would have loved to see them both together. It was easy to imagine them, Arum first gruff and suspicious, and then privately surprised at the easily weaved words of a beautiful knight… easily flustered and refusing to admit it until he knew for sure that particular sword wasn’t double edged. It was a tad embarrassing how clearly she could picture it, after only meeting Damien a day ago. She's probably remembering wrong, embellishing the reality...

She lets her head fall against her door and the heavy sigh in her breast escape. It doesn't matter much anyway. It wouldn’t have worked out. Not with a human. Even less with a knight.

Suddenly, her little home, usually warm and cozy, feels narrow and empty. She pushes herself back up and picks up her coat, stepping through her door again and locking it behind her.

The patch of dirt from the swamp is only a few paces away from her house, a few trees deeper into the forest.

“Keep,” Rilla says in its direction “would you mind getting me to Arum, please?”

Her mother-in-law - it still felt a little strange to think of the Keep as such, but it was worth it for the sputtered indignation it never failed to awake in Arum - responds joyfully in her melodious voice, and the portal opens at her feet, growing like a flower opening, until Rilla is able step through.

“Thank you”

She pets the bark of the nearest tree as a mark of affection. It was impossible to say exactly up to where the Keep’s sensibility extended, or if she was able to feel or understand the human gesture of physical intimacy, but Rilla liked to think she appreciated the gesture anyway.

The portal resorbs into wooden walls behind her and Rilla finds herself in a darkened room. She recognizes Arum’s bedroom without problem, his bed a nook in one of the walls he’d gallantly furnished with hay covered by a soft fabric for her “fragile human body”. Something, however, is missing from this familiar sight.

“Keep, where _is_ Arum?”

* * *

Damien stumbles through the woods, still a bit disorientated, but fairly certain he is on the right path to find the citadel. It is fully dark now, and although it is by no means cold, he can still feel a fresh, nightly breeze passing easily through the joints of his light armor, wracking his body with ominous shivers. Every step away from Rilla felt like a spike through his heart and a treason. No matter how much she’d insisted he stay away from her business, he still felt as though he owned it to her to come back and protect her. He couldn’t shake the horror of knowing she was cornered and alone, trapped and kept prisoner by a beast. He could not calm his heart, mourning at the loss of who he was sure was the love of his life.

He is so lost in the memory of her smile he almost doesn't see the trap.

Almost.

Damien throws himself down on the ground, hearing a sharp whistling sound just over his head as he ducks.

The arrow lodges itself in the tree behind him with a threatening “thwang”, and Damien immediately takes hold of his short sword, regretting immensely his inability to use both his hands to manipulate his bow with the still lit torch already in his hand.

“So I was right.”

Damien instantly recognizes the voice. It isn't hard. Never before has he heard any other sound so deep and raspy.

The beast steps into the light, its breath coming out in a rattle as he fixes Damien with his deep, vibrant violet eyes, shining like jewels in the light of his torch.

“It _was_ a human. And a knight, at that.”

Damien’s takes a fighting stance, holding the giant lizard’s gaze.

“Sir Damien." He anounces himself, "It is rare to see a monster such as you speak, but I doubt it makes you any harder to kill.”

The lizard hisses angrily, and Damien can see its tail lash out angrily behind it, slapping against a tree.

“How predictable, from a human. You may think yourself smart to have avoided one trap, but I assure you I don’t need to resort to your means to fall you, _Sir Damien_.”

His name is spat in a disdainful tone, and that, in itself, angers Damien more than the jab itself.

“And what might be the name of the monster whose head I’ll bring back to the Queen tonight? A creature that speaks must surely be happy to name itself!”

The creature lets out a sound akin to a snort, the sound surprisingly soft despite the unmistakably disdainful nature of it.

“Lord Arum is my name, but I’ll make sure to repeat it to you when your short memory fails to inform you of the cause of your demise.”

Damien blinks, surprised.

“Lord?”

“Yes, Lord! Of the swamp of Titan’s bloom! The very land you desecrated with your presence! Or is your memory already failing you, human?”

“What? How dare-”

“What do you want with Amaryllis?”

The tone of the lizard, up until then almost pleasantly disdainful, turns cold and deadly on those last words, giving Damien pause.

“Amaryllis? Rilla?”

The lizard hisses again, and Damien is surprised by his - its - attack, blocking two of the knives aimed at him and quickly jumping back to avoid being stabbed by a third one.

“Don’t you think it a bit unfair for you to attack me with four knives when I only have the one sword?” He pants, feeling a slight dizziness at his sudden movement - probably the poison still being evacuated from his system. “But then again, I wouldn’t expect more from a monster who is happy to keep a lady prisoner with threats and terror.”

“Amaryllis is free to do as she please!”

“Then why do you threaten me with your blade for the sole offense of seeing her?” Damien advances forward, hitting one of the lizard’s blades with precision to make it fly away from his grasp. “Why do you feel the need to survey her every movement?

There is an instant of hesitation in the monster’s eyes - his deep, shimmering violet eyes - and Damien uses it to slash at him in an intimidating manner. It isn’t close enough to actually harm the beast, but it causes him to stumble backward, falling on his back. Damien follow, straddling the monster’s chest and holding his blade up over his head.

Both of their breaths are loud in the quiet of the night, Arum’s a raspy rattle and Damien heavy gushes of air as he threatens the monster.

“Well then,” The monster finally says, the energy of the fight seeping into his scornful tone. “Aren’t you going to kill me? If you are _please_ do hurry. Your sight is more of a torture than the blade you carry.”

A he closes is eyes, as if already in death. The sight sends a painful jolt to Damien’s heart. Those violet irises... shrouded and and dull, covered by greying, decaying scales... Merely picturing it has his stomach twisting with anxiety. This is the last shudder of his compassion, he tells himself, a painful decision to kill a creature that is so conscious, so intelligent, that had the opportunity to bring wonders into the world.

“You’re wasting a lot of time sneering for someone who is about to die.” He says slowly. “Don’t you have any last words?”

A creature human enough to talk and think should have at least this, he tells himself, and pretend he doesn’t feel the tremor in his own arm.

Violet eyes flash back at him, and the anger there is almost a relief.

“None to say to _you_ , knight of the Second Citadel.” He spats the words with more vitriol that any he’d said to Damien. “Amaryllis will never be caught by the likes of you.”

“Wha-”

“Arum!”

They’re both surprised by the voice of Rilla, coming a few hundred yards from them. The beast under Damien recuperates much quicker than he does, though, and Damien is suddenly shoved away and pinned to the ground himself.

“You talk way too much, Honeysuckle.” The beast over him growls in a whistling breath, and his long muzzle brushes over Damien’s jaw. Lord Arum rears back, obviously as surprised as Damien is, the sensation leaving a burning, tingling mark on his skin, and he has a moment to consider that Arum’s scales feel much softer than he would have thought.

Arum finds his composure quickly enough though, and before Damien can do much more than blink, he has one of his knife raised high and ready to put an end to their struggle.

“It’s a shame you have to die.”

Damien closes his eyes, conjuring the image of Rilla when she’d smiled down at him, gentle and teasing.

“Arum, no!”

They both turn to see Rilla standing at the edge of the path, looking disheveled and angry in the faint light of the dying day.

“What are you two doing?!”

“Rilla-”

“Amaryllis-”

“Stop it! Both of you!”

“Amaryllis. You know that as soon as he gets to the Citadel, he’ll tell everyone about both of us. We can’t let him leave.”

“You’re _not_ killing him!”

“ _You_ -”

“Enough!”

The beast over Damien lets out an exasperated breath, looking for all the thing like some kind of scaly, scowled teenager as he cautiously steps away from Damien, careful not to turn his back to the knight.

“This is a mistake,” he rattles, but even to Damien’s ear, his unfamiliar tone sounds more annoyed than actually rebellious.

“It’ll be fine.” Rilla takes one scaly hands in hers when Lord Arum gets close to her, and the realization this sight provokes troubles Damien. It makes him feels light-headed and hot, the true horror of the situation a painful spike through his heart.

“Sir Damien!” Rilla’s tone crackles like a whip, forcing Damien to immediately stand to attention.

“Milady.”

“What you have seen tonight is and shall remain private, am I being clear?”

“But, Rilla, if the beast has manipulated you-”

He is interrupted by a fierce growl coming from Lord Arum, and forbids himself to feel bad for the slight. It is, after all, very likely true. No monster could otherwise tie themselves to a human the way this Lord Arum pretends to have had.

“Damien,” Rilla repeats, and her tone is strained now. The light falls on her face unevenly, only showing her frown, and the concerned twist of her mouth. “Would you consider me a friend?”

“I-” Damien is a bit taken aback by the question. “I guess so, yes. I would wish to be, in any case.”

“And you would agree, I imagine, that friends ought to trust one another?”

“Rilla-”

“If I assure you that the Second Citadel is far more dangerous to me than Arum, would you trust my word?”

“It’s not-”

“Would you?”

Rilla’s gaze was unflinching, determined in a way he could hardly refuse.

“I would trust that you believe it, at least. Although I would question why you shan’t be free of your own decisions and acquaintances, then.” He doesn’t bother masking the pique in his tone, and the monster called Lord Arum huffs and sneers at him, adjusting the dark cloak around him in a haunty, noble manner. The movement is annoyingly graceful.

“I suppose that does make sense.” The words are said with a reluctant drawl, but Damien catches, thanks to the faint light his torch is casting on her face, that Rilla is smiling as she responds. “Very well. I’ll allow you to visit me from time to time and make sure I am as safe as I assure to you I am, _if_ you promise to keep Arum’s existence _and mine_ a secret from the Citadel. Do you agree to those terms, Sir Damien of the Second Citadel?”

Arum snorts at the words, and despite the dark, Damien can see of his hands curls possessively around Rilla’s wrist. The sight has his throat closing with a sentiment he can’t rightly describe.

“I agree, Lady Rilla.”

The tension seems to bleed out of her shoulders, and she gives him a small smile, seeming relieved.

“Good.”

The three of them fall silent for what feels like a long moment. Damien watches the lady and the monster. He wonders if that Lord Arum’s skin is cold or warm to the touch, and how it would feel to brush against him if he were to try and hug Rilla against his chest. The night isn’t cold but he shiver anyway, his body aching for a proximity he is being denied.

He watches them and they watch him, two pairs of eyes, one black the other violet, intent on his face, on the sword still held limply in his hand, on every part of him kissed by the low light of the lamp.

“It’s late, Sir Damien.” Rilla ends up saying, with an achingly low voice. “You should get on your way.”

“I should.” He agrees. He doesn’t want to leave, doesn’t want to leave her alone with her monster, but he doesn’t have a choice. “But I’ll see you soon?”

He means to make it sound like an affirmation, clear and decisive, but it doesn’t surprise him that it comes out as a question.

“Yes. Soon.”

So, slowly, Damien picks up his light and turns away from them both, walking into the night with a heavy heart.

* * *

As soon as the knight is gone, Rilla swats Arum on the arm.

“What were you thinking?!”

Arum grumbles something, looking away from her. It makes her roll her eyes. The lizard can be such a baby sometimes…

“Care to repeat that?”

Arum sounds put upon and grumpy, but he does repeat himself.

“I was worried.”

“I can take care of myself!”

“I know you can!” The lizard protests, and now his tone is properly defiant. “But I have to wonder what you thought you were doing when you showed a human your house! I should have killed him!”

“It would have only made things worse. Besides, you’ve seen how he is. Do you really think he would betray us?”

Arum stays silent, obviously unwilling to recognize she’s right, despite clearly having no rebuff to her words.

A bit _too_ silent, actually.

“Arum?”

“You seemed to like him quite a lot,” he finally utters out, his voice only a whisper.

She tightens her grip on his hand.

“He seems nice,” her tone is cautious, feeling like she's carefully tread on a rope over a thirty feet drop.

“And he has a way with words.” Arum continues.

“He sure does. You have your moments too.”

“He smelt of flowers.”

He's still refusing to meet her eyes, so she gets closer to him, trying to warm him with the touch of her skin against his.

“If you wanted to-“

“I don’t.” She puts a hand on his cheek, to pull him back towards her, to look him in the eyes. “I’m not leaving, Arum." It takes a bit more cajoling to get him to look her in the eyes but she doesn't relent until he does. ""I love you.”

His frills flutter delicately behind his head, fanning and reddening with his embarrassment, and she keeps him firmly in her grasp.

“I’m staying right here, with you.” She whispers against his dry lips. She can’t kiss him the way she would a human, but nothing is keeping her from pressing her mouth against his snout, or from running her lips along his jaw, until she reaches the dip of his neck.

“Amaryllis,” Arum whispers, the sound rumbling inside his throat and into her ear.

He closes his arms around her, the two pairs of them enveloping her in a familiar cocoon of comfort.

“Let’s go home.”

* * *

When Rilla and Arum’s relationship went from acquaintances to lovers, Arum had introduced her to the Keep. It wasn’t how he’d presented it, of course, but it hadn’t taken Rilla a lot of time to figure out that his home - that had seemingly quite literally _created_ Arum, that told him to rest when he stayed up too late doing his experiments and engineering his different traps and inventions, and that closed around him so he could burrow in a soft nook when he finally let sleep overtake him – was just as much his family as she was a building. The Keep had a personality and a softness to her that she showed in all the little attention she had for them both and the songs she hummed for Arum when he couldn’t sleep. There was something lovely and extremely reassuring to know Arum had had her constant company before meeting Rilla – the lizard was already gruff enough, Rilla could only imagine how he’d have turned out if he truly hadn’t had any interpersonal relationship before meeting her. However, it had taken Rilla approximately two hours to realize that that meant that within the walls of the Keep, neither of them had any real privacy – and that wasn’t even accounting for how nosy the Keep was. As a result, Rilla had been very clear with Arum that they wouldn’t ever do anything more than sleeping where the Keep could watch them.

Arum had sputtered and blushed furiously at the implication, but apart from protesting that “the Keep isn’t my mother, Amaryllis”, he’d readily admitted they needed a bit more privacy than the one a sentient, singing building allowed. And while Rilla’s hut was fine most of the time, it was a bit small for the both of them, and too close to human population to be quite what they were looking for.

They’d reached a compromise on a small part of the jungle a few yards away from the soggy banks of the swamp. From there, the Keep could be reached quite easily, and if the need arose, they could both be transported back into her thick walls with little effort. It was orientated towards the wilds, which meant they had little chance of being bothered by humans, and the second home was sufficiently out of the way that they were rarely in the path of monsters either. There, they lived on the fringe of both worlds, feeling a bit like they were tottering on the edge of uncertainty and secrecy. Rilla could maybe have integrated the monster court had she been willing to, now that she had opened the path of the magic her parents had walked on, but she still wanted to retain part of her humanity while she could, still a doctor and a scientist before being a witch. And Arum could obviously not fit in human society. That home was their own refuge, an island maybe, or a pocket in the universe, undisturbed.

“Did you give them a response yet?” Rilla asks into the dark, tracing meaningless shape on the expanse of Arum’s skin.

Sometimes, though, even their island -their very own oasis in a treacherous world - could be reached by high waves.

Arum doesn't respond for a while, his breathing still calm and deep, but the hand he’s tangled in Rilla’s hair tightened minutely - a grip immediately relinquished after a second because Arum was always extremely careful not to hurt her in any way.

“Not yet,” he responds slowly, and Rilla can hear the slight hesitation in her voice.

She pushes herself up to fix him in the eyes.

“Arum,” - he looked like an ethereal creature in the darkness, the shape of a monstrous unknown, big and uniquely shaped, but a shape Rilla had grown familiar with, that she knew too well not to take comfort in. “you can’t accept.”

That doesn't mean Arum wasn’t an idiot sometimes.

“It’s not that easy-”

“You’re not participating in “eradicating the humans” or whatever their dumb plan is! First of all, because it’s a stupid plan, and second of all, because that’s not what we do.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time I created a weapon-”

“There’s a difference between a weapon and a device of mass destruction, _and_ ” she holds a hand up to stop Arum from interrupting her “ _I_ won’t let you eradicate the humans! _Come on_! I’m still human, you know. How long until they come for me if you accept to buy into their scorched earth bullshit?”

“I know.” Arum grumbles, trying to douse her outburst with a gentle touch on her hand, but Rilla isn't takig any of it.

“Then why haven’t you told them no? It’s been three weeks!”

“It’s not that easy! It’s been years since they’ve been waiting for an excuse to exclude me from the court. I’m trying to find a way to refuse without encouraging them to come sniff around, since, as you so deftly put, you’re still human. Something they don’t take kindly to, and that I therefore do not want them to further look into.”

Rilla sighs with exasperation, but Arum obviously needs to do things his way this time. Besides, he can be almost as stubborn as her at the best of time, so it really won't do well to push the issue.

“I’ll send a missive tomorrow,” he says nonetheless, and Rilla lets herself be pulled back down by his side.

Maybe everything is finally crashing down around them, she muses morosely. They’ve lived in a peaceful stasis for too long, maybe it's time for their bubble to burst and for the world to flow back into their little private world.

Destroying everything they'd built in its passage

Not really what Rilla longed for, to be quite honest.

Although, she can admit it's not _all_ bad, and some of the intrusions from outside they’ve suffered as of late were rather welcome.

“Did you really notice how Damien smelt?”

Arum freezes under her, suddenly tense and mostly unresponsive.

“It’s not an accusation.” Rilla chuckles a bit. “I thought he was rather… endearing.”

Arum lets out a disdainful sound, but she knows it to be more of a defense that an actual dismissal.

“He certainly has a way with words.” the lizard admits, voice clipped and serious. “Let’s hope it doesn’t extend to babbling about whoever he meets in the wilds.”

“I don’t think it does. Really.” Rilla deposits a kiss to the torso under her, hoping to dispel a bit of the nervous energy she could feel thrumming under Arum’s skin. “He seemed intent on keeping his word. And if he doesn’t…” she brings Arum’s hand to her so she can kiss the soft scales there too, “we’ll find a way, won’t we?”

They both take an instant to consider this. They’ve never had to uproot themself before, but it has been a concern on more than one occasion. The Keep would take a long time to recover being brought back from a sapling, and although Arum would never vocalize it, Rilla knows leaving his swamp would break his heart, but they could do it if the situation ever became dire eough. She wants to trust it won't come to that, though, not this time. She wants another future for them, maybe even a future involving a man, gentle with his eyes and his words.

“Do you remember what we discussed with Quanyii?”

That seems to surprise Arum, who dislodges her so he can look her in the eyes.

“I do remember,” he says, quite unnecessarily, considering his reaction. “Is that- do you- with that human?”

Rilla shrugs, letting a smile bloom on her lips.

“You liked him, didn’t you? All that repartie and sass” - she encircles Arum’s snout in both her hand, rubbing the scales there with a touch she knows to be enjoyable - “and put into such beautiful sentences… And you noticed his _smell_ … did you really not think about it?”

“I… It’s not… I wouldn’t…”

“We don’t have to decide anything right now, but we can think about it? It seems this won’t be the last we’ll see of him, but maybe it just won’t go that way… we’ll see what happens, alright?”

She climbs back over his torso, knowing the weight and warmth would center him.

“It seems he likes to take orders, though,” she whispers in his ear, sultry and teasing, “does that remind you of someone?”

“Amaryllis!”

She snickers at his scandalized tone, peppering kiss on his neck to smooth his agitated heartbeat.

“I’m just saying… I wouldn’t mind having the both of you like little soldiers… ready just for me.”

Arum makes a small sound, a bit strangled.

“It’s okay.” she whispers into his skin, in a tone so low she half-hoped he wouldn’t hear her, “It’ll be okay, no matter what. I promise.”

They don't untangle until both of them are sound asleep, curled into one another.

* * *

Damien lies in his little cot in the guard’s tower, wide awake.

He can still feel a slight wooziness from the slowly dissipating poison, but even his exhaustion isn't quite enough for his eyes to stay closed as he peers helplessly into the darkness. He'd arrived late at night in the Citadel without fanfare. When the night guard had asked him about the delay on his mission, he’d mentioned getting lost and staying in a small town near the Citadel. The lie had burned his tongue, but he could still see Rilla’s face, with her mouth set in a determined frown, asking him not to reveal the secret she lived in. Had she lied to him, telling him she was safe with that.. Lord Arum? Or was she simply delusional, thinking she was safer with her captor than within the Citadel's secure walls? Would it be that she really was happy living with a monster: a creature Damien had always lived to fight and defend against? Was such a creature really capable of the tenderness he had seen that so-called Lord Arum showing? Had any of that sentiment - of the feelings reflected in those violet eyes - been true? Damien had never known any monster to hold any positive feelings towards anyone but themselves; and much less humans. Monster were a plague to humanity, and each and everyone of their representants were added elements to a malevolent army Damien had sworn to protect the Citadel and its inhabitants against.

But he’d also never known any monster to talk. Never known any to have such captivating eyes, wells of violet depths, full of anger and mistrust when they had been directed at Damien, but showing layers of warmth and worry under the surface. They’d looked like they could be gentle.

Soft.

Loving.

How did they look when they rested on Rilla? Were they warm and reassuring? Their light turning to a soft contemplation of her beautiful determination, and the monster’s face made all the more attractive by the gentleness it-

Damien catches the train of thought and baishes it instantly. What a strange fantasy to have. He must be even more tired that he thought if his mind is starting to be that confused about what he saw. Surely no monster is able to show such tenderness, such love for another. Surely this… _relationship_ \- Damien shuddered to think - was a masquerade, a ploy, and Damien would do everything in his power to convince Rilla of this and to have her accept his help.

To consider the contrary... not only was it ridiculous, it was dangerous.

Maybe he shouldn’t even wait for Rilla's acceptance. He recoils at the thought of breaking his promise, a deed foul and uworthy of a knight, but isn't it a selfish endeavor to try and preserve his own dignity and honour when a lady’s safety and happiness are at stake? Shouldn’t he help her, even if she hated him for slaying the monster entrapping her in a false sense of familiarity?

The thought turns Damien’s stomach, he could imagine the betrayal on her face, the horror in her eyes at the lifeless form of Lord Arum, his beautiful eyes gone pale and grey in death, and then closing, disappearing altogether to the world, never to contemplate the way the light falls on her face again…

Damien takes a long breath to calm the stutter he can suddenly feel in his chest. His lungs burn as he forces himself to take a few shuddering breaths. By the time he manages to get his breath back under control, he has o blink to chase away tears, brought on by the pain and suddent panic.

He can't. He can't do it.

He can't betray Rilla’s trust, he can't kill the monster… Not- not right now. That would be breaking his promise and he can't- he can't bear to do such a thing to Rilla. He needs time. Time to convince Rilla so he can properly save her without breaking her trust. She might not be happy either way if she ends up finding herself in a new life - free of her scaly manacles - without at least a friend to trust. If he saves her by breaking a promise, she might find herself all alone and in need of saving all over again. He needs to gain her trust and her friendship, or his help might turn out to be meaningless. He has to keep his promise, to wait and see.

He can't kill Lord Arum, he needs- he needs time. With enough time, he’ll be able to save Rilla.

And until then, his lips will be a tomb, no secret slipping between them

Those thoughts circle in his head deep into the night, running Damien's mind ragged like a haggard prey chased by wolves.

They don't leave him until he falls into a fitful sleep, dreaming of flowers and gentle ladies, of accepting Rilla’s embrace only to find himself encircled with four strong arms, a scaly face in front of him, and a mouth full of teeth bearing down on him until he is falling, down down down....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aware of how fast Rilla is moving, but I think it's kind of in line both with her character and the environment she's had in this AU. Also Damien can be a dick, but hopefully he'll end up seeing a bit farther than his own nose sometimes in the near future!  
> Im feeling better, so I might even respond to comments if you wanna share anything, in any case, thanks for reading <3


	3. On the stories of the human mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new day... and some legends.

Damien woke with a pounding headache the next day, along with achy limbs and a lot of resentment for his barrack’s bed. He hadn’t really bothered to settle in his own home since becoming a knight, figuring he was fine to live where his duty awaited him, but having spent one night in Rilla’s real, comfortable bed, it felt particularly hard going back to the drafty, uncomfortable coot he had been assignated in the Tower.

Nonetheless, he had a duty to his Queen and to the Citadel’s citizens, so Damien forced his weary form to get up, grimacing and shivering all the while.

The Queen barely asked any questions as she listened to his meagre report - he’d found the beast, killed it, and instructed the village on how to better protect themselves if any creature of the sort were to come back - while keeping an eye on the documents she was examining. He didn’t even have to lie about his delay, the Queen not bothering to question why her knight had taken such a long time comig back to her Citadel.

It went so smoothly Damien was left to feel awkward and unbalanced by the silence as he finished his account.

It felt as though the event of the previous days had completely overturned his life, revealed a whole new world of possibilities to him… and yet, nothing seemed to be different for any of the persons he’d met over the day. The Citadel was the same, a monolith standing at the edge of the jungle, a monument of safety and steadiness, even while for every steps Damien took, the ground seemed to shift and crumble under his feet, constantly threatening to send him tumbling down.

“Do you have anything else to tell me, Sir Damien?” asks the Queen, when he’s lingered long enough for it to distract her from her work.

“I- Well-” what can he say, that wouldn’t arouse suspicion? For all he knew, the Queen was one word away from sending troops to Rilla’s hut and destroy the equilibrium she had obviously spent a long time balancing. Maybe they would even imprison her for consorting with the enemy. Everything was jumbled in his head; his thoughts in a rightful mess he couldn’t even start to untangle. “Did you ever hear of a monster that talks, my Queen? A creature that is not human but that isn’t a beast, either?”

She frowns at him, looking concerned.

“I haven’t. Have _you_? The existence of such a creature would be very worrying indeed.”

“No! That is- it’s only a rumor! Words that I caught from the winds, possibly even misheard! I- I just thought maybe some of those creatures could maybe… harbor some of the human feelings? Maybe like compassion- or pity, or, or, _love_?”

The Queen fixes him for an instant, her gaze unscrutable. And then a chuckle escapes her, as if she can't quite repress, and she smiles, tired but warm and bright.

“What a wonder that would be, indeed! Thank you Damien, this sad room, burdened by duty, needs to see some humor sometimes.”

“Ah,” Damien chuckles along, weakly “I’m always happy to be of service for my Queen.”

He bows low to hide his embarrassment. What had he been thinking? He’d let himself fall for the same spell that vile creature had put on Rilla, and in doing so had almost ridiculized himself in front of his Queen. A monster able to show proofs of genuine love? What a ludicrous thought! Damien was ashamed to even have entertained it for an instant.

“I should take my leave now, my Queen.” He finally says, calmly respecting the protocol despite his urge to run out of the room and train himself until he faltered from exhaustion.

He can't afford to fall for the monster’s charms, for _its_ strangely enchanting eyes or its calm, strong presence. None of it was real, for there was no way such a monster would ever feel anything but contempt and bloodlust. He couldn’t trust it, and it's imperative he finds a way to make Rilla see that as well.

The Queen waves him off distractedly, already getting back to her reports.

“Please send in Sir Caroline on your way out. Have a good day, Sir Damien.”

The woman sends him a cold glance when he opens the door to the chambers. It's a searching, calculating look, different from the sneer she usually directs at him, and he shivers unpleasantly at the idea that she might have heard everything that has just been said inside the room.

Sir Caroline, however, does't make any comment before the heavy door of the Queen's reception office is closed, so Damien can only hope the luck of saints is shining down on him, and nothing more.

Resolutely, he makes for the training grounds.

* * *

Arum wakes to the unrelenting feeling of something tickling and his own sluggish attempts to protect himself from the onslaught.

“Hey” Amaryllis says softly, looking at him from were she's resting atop of his chest, most of her torso sprawled over his. Her hair is cascading around her shoulder, and she watches with a smile as Arum grumpily bats away the strand that has been torturing him. Once he's done fending of her - otherwise breathtaking, but annoyigly fuzzy - curls, she presses a gentle kiss to the corner of his jaw.

“Amaryllis” He means for his tone to sound exasperated, but her name has never been meant for anything but tenderness, and even can hear the love and longing his body automatically pours into the word.

She lets herself be caged in his arms, humming like a little bird as he draws her as close as he can, feeling her warmth against his colder, dormant self and savouring the feeling of them both. He thinks he could be convinced to stay like this forever.

They both know it isn't possible, though. Not when they can both feel, in their own way, the world thrumming beneath us, moving along as they stay still, uncaring if the maw of time crushes them as it passes them.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks, breaking their temporary reprieve.

Rilla hums sleepily, apparently content to let the wordless silence linger around them.

“Were you really running an experiment, yesterday, or was that just to throw me off?” He tries to keep his tone level, despite feeling the lock on his anger tremble and shake, asking to be let out. Now wasn't the time to start a fight. Not when he can feel Rilla’s heart beat gently against his skin, when he can press his nose in her hair and bask in her floral and spicy scent.

“I was. I was trying to find a formula to help the Keep with her residual stress. I mean, I _keep_ telling you you overwork her but-”

“I _try_ not to ask as much of her.” Arum interrupts with his usual protest, prompting a gentle laugh from the human burrowed in his side.

“I know you do.” Rilla presses another kiss to his neck, where her head is nestled against him. “But she’s still stressed out, and needs to rest more."

They settled back against one another, and for another few moments, Arum feels no compulsion to break the silence, simply breathing in the quiet contentement of having his precious flower by his side.

“I need to go work on my formula,” finally says Rilla, her voice soft and muffled by Arum’s arms. “And you have to send that message to the council.” Even as she says it, she doesn't move or try to push Arum’s arms back away from her, so he doesn't bother to free her from his embrace either.

Just a little more time.

Just a moment, before the world catches up with them.

* * *

“Hello there, my estimed rival!”

Angelo’s voice booms across the training field, and Damien forced himself not to recoil as the sound hurts his still sleep-shrouded head.

“Angelo! I didn’t know you were back from the southern wilds!”

“I am! And I do hope you’ve busy in my absence, my dear friend, for I have brought down more than my share of beasts while away, and might have finally beaten you in those numbers!”

“Beaten me?!” Damien cries with mock offense, “Do you think I’ve rested the whole time you’ve been away? You should rather be afraid _I_ haven’t beaten you in our counts, my friend!”

It's easy, and comforting to fall back to their usual banter, and Damien is grateful for the reprieve on his tired, scared soul.

“Is that so?” bellows Angelo, his infinite well of his energy pushed into his voice. “We shall spare to settle the score then, my friend and rival!”

Damien chuckles at the theatrics, and accepts the spare readily, quickly warming himself up so they can fight. Angelo’s ways are unsubtle and often quite over the top, but they always manage to get him out of his head when he needs it. And today, his friend’s company is more than welcome.

They spare for a good hour, letting the fight go on and on as they each counter the other, the knowledge of both their technique making it both easy and hard to dance with one another. Angelo is better at close range combat, but Damien has long since learned how to give himself distance, and Angelo knows much too well how to defend against the flat heads of his training arrows.

“Ah, maybe a - ah - a break is in order, my friend,” Damien ends up panting, when they've thoroughly exerted themselves. They’re both unhurt, although Damien is certain he’ll get a nasty bruise from the tumble he took to avoid one of Angelo good swing, and Angelo himself earned a series a scratch on his face when he narrowly avoided an arrow that would surely have broken his nose.

“I - ah - I couldn’t agree more” Angelo pants back, before a smile breaks on his features. “How glad I am to see you again, Damien!”

Damien doesn’t resist the hug his friend gives him, tight and bear-like. The knights and soldiers that were watching their fight slowly disband, each of them going to their own occupation.

“How have you been, my friend?”

“Me? Ah- Well, fine! What else! Nothing- Nothing of note has happened, without you to keep me company! What about you? Surely you have had a lot of adventures, being gone so far and for so long!”

He doesn’t know if it’s to be attributed to Angelo’s gullibleness, or to his own - notorious - lack of social life, but his fellow knight doesn’t comment on his fumbling answer, all too happy to narrate the tale of his travels. Damien only half listens to them as they peel themselves off the training grounds and into the changing room, taking off and cleaning their gear.

All in all it’s a pleasant evening.

* * *

Damien is sent on a new mission.

It’s a simple one, really. There has been troubles on the western ends of the Queen’s lands and Damien is tasked with chasing down and eliminating the threat. As it turns out, the cause for the agitation had been a pack of strange, savage dogs, who would raid the barns for fresh goat meat, and deprive the village of their meat and milk from the livestock, which had started to create tension between the inhabitants. It’s only a matter of killing the beasts, and sending a report asking for the Queen to send some ressources to her subjects while they remplish their reserves again. (And if before killing his first hound, Damien waits anxiously for it to speak at him, and reveal its intelligent nature, well, that only means he has one more semi-serious gash on his arm… nothing to fret about, really.)

Then, only comes the matter of going back to the Citadel. And Damien can only admit to himself that the prospect of finding his small, drafty coot again does nothing to encourage his pace to quicken. If anything, sleeping in the wilds, one eye half open, has the advantage of letting him take in the air, breathing in lungful of the spicy perfume emitted by obnoxious flowers, and looking up at the patches of sky, reminiscent of a shock of hair, the beautiful black of it agreemented by flowers like the sky is by the stars.

It’s already quite late when he reaches a village he thinks is quite close to Rilla’s little house, and the night has already fallen. Damien considers his options and decides to stay the night in the one inn the hamlet has to offer. This way he can hopefully make sure not to lose his way yet again in the woods, and when he reaches Rilla’s home, it will be day, which he gathers is the best way he has to avoid A- the beast. Only thinking of those violent eyes troubles him deeply - the feeling hot and fiery where it bubbles in his throat - and he can’t be certain of his actions should he meet the beast again.

* * *

With this plan firmly set in mind, he enters the warm establishment where he is received with a smile. For the first time in a long time, he considers moving out of the barracks and leaving his drafty corner for the warmth of a fire. But then he knows he would be faced with a fire left to warm very little indeed, and no one to share his comfort with. Unbidden, a thought suddenly comes into his head, of Arum and Rilla sat in front of such a fire, entangled in one another in a light slumber, Rilla’s head resting over the lizard’s large chest and the light from the fire making Arum’s scale glow with warm. He thinks of the lazy caress Rilla would press upon Arum’s arm, idly tracing shapes and they cuddle together, hypnotized by the dance of the flames and each other’s embrace…

Damien shivers violently, the thought sending a blinding wave of frigid heat through his heart and limbs, and he forces himself to concentrate on the waitress in front of him, trying to ignore the violent beats of his heart and the sudden pressure behind his eyes. Never before has he felt such a violent passion, and he doesn’t know what to do with the intense longing the thought of Rilla in the arms of such a monster awakes in him. Doesn’t know what to do with the urge he suddenly has to brave the wilderness and the night to find Rilla and Arum right away, and to- to- he doesn’t what he’ll do when confronted with those beautiful - troubled and gentle like the sky as the sun hides itself and colors hit it with a million shades - surprisingly human eyes. The feeling he feels when he thinks of the lizard can only be a hot, burning jealousy, and yet it sends his heart into a tumble he can only compare to the one he feels under Rilla’s gaze.

He forces himself to focus on the innkeeper’s welcoming smile as he commands a dinner. She serves it to him several minutes later, carrying with her another plate full of the same gruel she gives him.

“Mind if I sit with you? I haven’t had the time to dine earlier and now my little monsters are to bed, so I figured we could keep each other company.”

She laughs when he flounders at the expression, assuring him she is in no way interested in a knight from the Citadel, no matter how charming he might be, and he accepts her company readily, eager to keep his thoughts away from dark skin and gentle hands and violet eyes. He compliments her on her dinner, and she smiles, talks about her sons helping her keeping the inn running. She doesn’t mention a father and he doesn’t ask. They talk for longer than he would have expected, her tranquil demeanor and her smooth voice an agreeable companion as darkness falls over her establishment. Soon enough, they’re alone in front of a dwindling fire, and his new friend has taken out some of her liquor for them to drink. She asks where he’ll be going, come morning, and when he mentions the woods, she stares at him for an instant.

“You should stay cautious,” she says, a thoughtful look on her face, “those woods are supposed to be cursed.”

Damien blinks, not knowing whether he should be impressed or bored by this tidbits of local superstitions.

“Cursed? What do you mean?”

She shrugs.

“It’s supposed to change people. You come in and when you come out you’re not quite the same person… if you do come out.” She catches the alarmed look Damien is giving her and chuckles softly. “If you think those are the rumors scared villagers exchange at night, you’d be right. Myself, I’m not sure I believe a lick of it, but, well,” she sobers a little, eyes lost in the embers before them, “Men make stories and stories make men. Even if they’re not true, they hold _something_ of the truth, and there’s no denying those woods are dangerous. No smoke without a fire, I guess.”

“But there are woods everywhere. Why would this particular place be cursed?”

“It’s a legend people like to talk about around here.” She shoots a look at Damien and smiles at his expectant glare. Under his gaze, she sits up straight and takes on a deep, mellow tone - she ought to be a great storyteller, Damien thinks.

“The story goes: there used to be a young, pretty maiden living in the village. She of course had several suitors after her, but she didn’t care much about their attentions, and prefered to wander in the forest, coming back smelling of wild flowers and looking the happiest in the world. She would sometimes even sleep in the forest, despite her parents’ protests and warnings, but nothing bad ever happened to her, and so she kept going in the woods. She said the trees were the most loving persons she’d ever met, and as time went on, she was considered in the village as something of a witch, because she spoke as though she could talk to the trees and understand the speech of their whispering leaves.”

“But of course, one day, she went into the forest, and didn’t come back. On the first day, her parents weren’t that worried, as it had happened several times before already, but when she didn’t come back for a second day, then a third, they started fearing something terrible had happened to her. They sent a party to find her in the woods, expecting the worst, but no one could find her, or even her corpse. The searches went on everyday and late into the night for over a month, long after anyone had any hope of ever seeing her alive again. The villagers stopped talking about her, avoiding her parents out of pity for the couple who had lost their daughter.”

She pauses an instant, taking a sip of her beverage, but Damien doesn't dare interrupt, sure something is still missing from her story. His heart is beating fast, and he can feel his hand clinging weakly at the glass between his hands. He can't help but think of another woman, young and beautiful, surrounded by flowers, deep into the woods, bewitched by them and by the beast inhabiting them…

“But the parents didn't lose hope. Or maybe they didn't to admit the likely truth. They both kept wandering the woods, hoping to see any trace of her, or maybe to understand what she’d seen in those woods that had had her so fascinated. And so, every day, they went into the woods, to search for their daughter.

One day, as they were doing this for at least the hundredth time, the husband heard his wife cry in horror. He ran to her, fearing he’d lose both the women precious to his heart to the woods, but the woman was only staring in horror at a tree. Soon enough, however, he understood what had cause such a look on his wife’s face. The tree’s trunk didn’t quite ressemble a tree aymore: instead, it looked almost exactly like their daughter had, a figurine of wood, to size. And as they were frozen in horror and grief before it, it began to make a sound, like a song, or a prayer. Soon, they were both brought to tears at the mournful chant, as it seemed the tree was crying.”

“They came back to the village, claiming a tree had imprisoned their daughter, and that they had to cut it down. The villagers were doubtful, most of them thinking the mother had became as crazy as her offspring, but some still accepted to follow her to where she’d seen the tree. It wasn’t there anymore, obviously, nor was the figure of her daughter, and she was told to accept her daughter’s death once and for all. She insisted she’d seen her daughter, but everyone stopped listening to her, even as she said she heard the trees talk whenever she was in the woods. Her husband drank himself into an early grave, and when she disappeared in the woods herself, few where the one who even went to look for her.”

She turns back to him, her solemn demeanor slipping back into a comfortable posture.

“So here it is, the spooky story. Cursed wood that transform people into trees. Quite a legend, don’t you think?”

Damien nods weakly, his mouth dry. The woman doesn't remark on his expression - one he's sure must be as horrified as those poor people from the story he's just heard - she makes o remark of it, only getting up with a sigh.

“Well, it’s getting late, and we both need to wake up early tomorrow, so if you don’t mind, I’ll show you your room and take my leave. Or I can show you where the wood stock is, if you’d rather stay down there?”

“Oh!” Damien hastily gets up to follow her. “No, you’re right, I should probably sleep as well, thank you.”

She shows him to a room on the first floor, down the same corridor her own kids are apparently sleeping in, and provides him with everything he might need for the night.

“About the story you told me-” Damien asks as she's saying her good night and is getting ready to get to her own room, “do you know what the maiden was called? What she looked like?”

She looks at him with a bit of surprise.

“No? As I said, it’s an old story, mister knight. As far as anyone knows, it probably never happened. If it did, no one bothered to keep an actual record of it. But you shouldn’t trouble yourself with that. Didn’t you say you crossed those woods already? This curse is only a legend.”

“Right.” Damien tries to give her confused expression a reassuring smile. “That’s right. Sorry to have troubled you with this, my concerns are silly.”

She smiles back.

“I hope I haven’t managed to scare you quite so badly you’ll dream of wooden ladies. Sleep well, Sir Damien.”

“You too”

Of course, it is only a story… a legend to scare children away from the danger of a wild forest filled with fierce animals and monsters. But Damien can't help but think of Rilla, surrounded with her flowers, their scent mingling with her own, as if she’d become a spirit of the forest already. Can't help but think of the voice he’d heard from her home, melodious and unique, something that couldn’t come from either Rilla or Arum’s throat. Is she trapped by the forest? Not only by her volition but by the ancient spell of the woods, ready to entrap her in its roots and branches at any moment? Can it be a curse by Arum’s doing?

It feels wrong, somehow, to accuse Arum of such a thing… but wasn’t that just a spell the creature had put on Damien to charm his sense and confuse his wits? He doesn't know anymore what he is supposed to believe, and it is with a troubled mind that Damien falls into a fitful sleep, dreaming of sobbing maiden with greening skin, and of giant, fear inducing lizard with deep, soulfull eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you catch on who the innkeeper was? I made myself sad thinking of how much happier Sarah could have been.


	4. On the dangers of picking a flower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Rilla isn't there to mediate, Damien and Arum find themselves forced to cooperate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey I was gonna write a whole thing but I've more to deal with than I wanted to today so here it is:  
> Between academia and the Covid I had to stop writing for 6 months. I'm not sorry cause it couldn't be helped but I want to keep on writing fanfictions (and long ones) so I'm working to be more regular. And also I have a lot less to do than I did last year so that will probably help.  
> While I'm only posting now, I've been working on this fic since November, and it is now mostly done (I'm on the last chapter). I can't promise it will be fast, but it will get done eventually.
> 
> Oh also in the word of every fanfic author. This was supposed to be 25k. It won't be 25k.
> 
> Here's the chapter. If you waited for it this whole time, I really hope you enjoy it! <3

Arum stared annoyedly at his experiment laid out in front of him. This felt like it should have been done by now, like he should have found a way to tweak this in the best way already, but the little creations he’s been trying to make has only been floundering and wheezing when he’d awakened them, each of them able to walk a few step before they expire lamely.

Very far from the result he’d been expecting, and much too imperfect to present to Rilla as the helper he’d designed it to be. If he wasn’t so concentrated on the face she’d make receiving her gift, he would probably have stormed out of his workshop already, taken the time to take a walk around Titan’s Bloom, and to listen to the quiet nature around him. As it is, he was stuck in front of his working station, unable to work out why those specific creations couldn’t seem to store the strength he needed them to have, and unable to call onto the Keep for help, as Rilla had ordered the both of them to have the magical being take a break from helping Arum with his experiments.

He looked dejectedly as another little being stumbled and buckled under its own weight. Another failed experiment.

Maybe it’d do him good to take a bit of a walk, after all.

It was no surprise by now that his feet, as mindless as they are, led him straight to Rilla’s house in the woods. He didn’t quite like the fact that Rilla didn’t simply move into the little house they’d made for themselves, but he had to admit her hut stood as a good laboratory in which she could make her own experiments without them bothering one another. Overall, he could only admit - reluctantly - that they probably would squabble and bicker constantly should they live, and especially _work_ , in closer proximity. Besides, it wasn’t like they didn’t spend most of their time together anyway.

He called her name, wondering if he could convince her to accompany him in his walk around the swamp. There was no response coming from the hut, but he pushed the door anyway: neither he nor Rilla were strangers to getting absorbed in their science to the point of not hearing any outside call - although he could admit he could even worse at it than Rilla.

However, there was no one to be found in the house. He thought nothing of it at first: it wasn’t unusual for Rilla to go out herself, to spend some time wandering the forest or to collect materials.

The place was cold though, silent and eerie in a way it’d rarely ever been, and Arum started to feel the grip of anxiety grip his throat. By the time he found a broken beaker on the ground, carelessly left for its liquid to sluggishly spread itself on the floor, he didn’t have it in him to pretend to be surprised. It could be something else, he told himself desperately, but Amaryllis would never be so careless as to let such a mess in her place of work, unless it was an emergency. And then, she would have found Arum…

“Amaryllis?” he called again, desperate to get an answer he already knew wouldn’t come. It was useless, he knew, but still he rounded the little home, touring through Amaryllis’ mostly unused bed and examining every inch of her work station and little kitchen.

“ _Amaryllis?!_ ” There was nothing to find. Of course there was nothing. Not even enough of a scent for Arum’s fairly keen nose to trail. It seemed as though she’s been there one instant, and then… had vanished.

“ _Amaryllis?!_ ” There must be something to find! A scent to track, a trail, something! Arum stormed out of the little house, trying to find anything that would help him decipher where Rilla went: but he was a scientist, not a hunter, and if there were signs to be found he couldn’t follow them, and if there was an instinct to have, he must have been missing it, finding himself wandering around, lost and helpless, a gaping distress opening up in the pit of his stomach.

She was gone.

“Amaryllis?!”

But she didn’t respond to his cries, and the forest stayed empty of his lover.

Instead he felt something hard and painful dig into his back.

“What did you do to Rilla?” growls a voice. 

“ _You_ -”

“If you foul beast did-”

“Did the Citadel have to take her away too, didn’t you have enough?!”

“What-”

The pressure on his back abated and Arum wasted no time whirling around, ready to take this knight by the throat and make him spill.

Before he could grab the knight and tear him limbs to limbs, a sword pushed at his throat. The human’s expression looked thunderous.

“No. Your evil machinations won’t confuse me any longer, beast! Where is Rilla, and what did you do to her?”

An hiss swelled inside of Arum’s throat, loud and aggressive.

“How dare you insinuate _I_ would do _anything_ to Amaryllis when _your_ Citadel has been _hunting_ and _killing_ us unwarranted for _years!_ ”

“I- I- I-” the knight stuttered, red-faced “You’re lying! I know about your tricks! You caged her in a tree to please your wickedness, didn’t you?!”

“A tree?!” Arum hissed once more “Is your kind stupid as well as murderous?! What does this have anything to do with Amaryllis?!”

“Do not try to confuse me again, beast!” Cried Damien defensively, pointing his blade at Arum’s throat once more. “I know of the stories! You seek to mold Rilla into your forest! It is so she’ll stay forever by your side, or simply to replace your servant?!”

“What. Are you. talking about?!. What lies are you ready to trust about my kind that you would believe such a _stupid tale_?!”

“I-” Damien flushed, but his grip on the short sword tightened again. The beast was trying to confuse him, to lose him in tales and stories until he couldn’t even remember which way was up, he couldn’t afford to fall for it! “I heard your servant last time! Don’t think I don’t know of your ways, lizard!”

“My-” Arum huffed, the stupidity of the realisation hitting him now. “My _servant_ , as you say, is simply the Keep itself, my home and my creator: it is not a _mere_ servant, despite where your insulting beliefs may lay!”

“I- what?” Damien lowered his sword minutely, rendered speechless by the lizard’s explanation.

“I did not harm Amaryllis, Sir Knight.” Arum’s heart tightened in his chest at the idea of his lost lover, taken away to who knew where. “I wouldn’t dare to touch the most marvelous flower my eyes have seen in such a way. It seems to me _your_ lot has rarely been as scrupulous.”

The human’s skin reddened in anger, but it wasn’t enough to impress him.

“Don’t you _dare_ insult the wisdom of the Queen. She never would harm an innocent soul-”

“ _Oh?_ Wouldn’t she? Really? I suppose no innocents have _ever_ been harmed by your Queen and her _Citadel_.”

Barely consciously, he had been advancing on the human, letting the steel Damien carried bit at his flesh as he backed the smaller male up to the trunk of a tree. Damien didn’t push back against the assault, though, and his blade had been retreating as Arum advanced on him. His angry expression had fallen as well, and Arum couldn’t decipher the meaning behind the frown the human was now sporting. Shame, maybe? Damien would be right to feel ashamed - he knew for a fact more than one innocent had been sacrificed to the Citadel so called justice.

He just hoped Amaryllis wasn’t the next victim to their whims.

“I-” The human looked like he wanted to say something, but he cut himself, and the look on his face was one Arum could easily sparse. He looked scared. The sight didn’t fill him with as much satisfaction as he would have thought.

“I didn’t tell anyone about Rilla.” Finally uttered the knight. “It’s not the Citadel.”

They looked at each other. Arum searched the human’s eyes, trying to gauge his honesty. Damien seemed to be doing the same. In the end, he seemed to have found what he’d been looking for, and he broke their staring contest by looking down. Similarly, his sword was lowered, slowly, and Arum suddenly realized he'd gotten close enough that he could feel the human’s breath hitting his chest. His tail itched to curl in embarrassment but he didn’t let it. Damien might seem trustworthy for now, but if it turned out he had hurt Amaryllis, Arum wouldn’t hesitate to claw his heart out or - and he could admit to himself that was more likely - die trying.

“If it isn’t you, or the Citadel, then who…?”

Arum looked at the knight, and the sinking feeling in his chest came back with a vengeance.

The lizard let out a loud hiss, making Damien startle again.

“What?”

Arum ignored him. Without a word, he started to walk away from Damien, his steps sure and determined.

“Where are you going?!” Damien started to follow after the lizard, stumbling on the uneven forest floor. Still, no response came from Arum, who forged on regardless of Damien’s demands.

Arum only stopped walking when an arrow stuck itself into the tree right in front of him. If look could have killed, Damien would have died as Arum turned towards him.

“What.” He asked, flatly, the undercurrent of a hiss clogging his voice. Damien couldn’t help but wonder if this happened whenever the lizard got angry.

“Where are you going? Do you know where Rilla is?”

“That isn’t any of your business.” Arum sounded calm - cold - but Damien could still hear the sharp hiss underneath his tone, undermining his composed exterior.

“I am a knight of this Citadel and my duty is in the protection of all citizens under the Queen’s rule. You _will_ let me accompany you to save Rilla.”

The beast glared daggers at him, its violet eyes filling with a righteous fury.

“This is not a human matter, Sir Knight, and I do not require your assistance.”

Damien glared right back.

“I don’t care.”

The lizard made a move to turn away from him once more, but stopped in his track when the sharp “thwang” of another arrow hitting the tree right in front of him resonated in the air.

Arum hissed, loud and furious.

“You would be wise not to put yourself in my way, _Sir Damien_.”

“Are you so sure you can rescue Rilla without help, _Lord Arum_?” Damien replied in kind, keeping a tight grip on the brittle thread of his anger. “Are you so sure you won’t need my blade or my bow? No matter what, I’ll follow you if there’s any chance it helps Rilla,so you’d be better off letting me help in whatever plan you concoct.”

The lizard hissed, looking furious.

“I don’t think you understand, Sir Damien. If Amaryllis has been kidnapped by who I think, your presence will only make matter worse."

“Will there be need for a blade to help you deliver her from her captor?”

Lord Arum greeted his teeth, the effect quite impressive with his large maw, but didn’t respond.

“Lord Arum” Damien, pushed on, “with all due respect, I’ve already spared against you and it is obvious to me you aren’t the fighting type. I don’t know what we are up against but I can assure you I will be useful to retrieving Rilla. I am an accomplished knight of the Citadel, and aside from my duty, I very much want to help her.”

It didn’t feel right to plead with a beast, but Damien would do it if it enabled him to help Rilla. No matter what Arum said, he would find a way to follow him and make sure the rescue mission was successful, but he wasn’t so obtuse as to ignore that they had a better chance while cooperating.

“This isn’t a mission for a bull-headed idiot like you.” hissed the lezard, but it wasn’t as vicious as his previous rebuttals, and Damien forced himself not to react at the half-hearted insult.

“Then use me accordingly. If you don’t need me that’s fine, but I refuse to put Rilla in danger because of your misplaced pride.”

Arum let out another loud hiss.

“Fine.” He spat, “I don’t have time to argue with you. But if you keep me from rescuing her, I won’t hesitate to slit your throat.”

Damien felt relief flood through him. He couldn’t even find it in himself to mind the careless threat thrown his way. Surely, with the two of them, they could only find a surefire way to rescue Rilla.

And then…

Damien's thoughts stuttered, suddenly swarmed by uncertainty again. What was he doing trusting this monster? Wasn’t he an enemy of the Citadel, Rilla’s captor? But if he was trying to rescue her… and then, where would that leave Damien?

“You’d better keep up, _knight_ , because I won’t wait for you.”

Damien forced himself to take a breath, and hastily followed behind the lizard. He could deal with all of this later. As of now, he only had one mission: to rescue Rilla.

If Damien had doubted that Arum was telling him the truth about the melodious voice he’d heard belonging to a magical being that had little to do with Rilla… well… Let’s just say that faced with a seemingly sentient tree, Damien felt a little foolish. The Keep - as Arum had introduced it in a throwaway comment (that Damien had the distinct impression had been only uttered at _its_ prompting) - appeared to be some kind of castle, entirely organic, that opened doors by _shifting its entire being_. It sang with the same strange, melodic voice Damien had heard in Rilla’s little house, and Arum responded to it with his regular speech, as if the song carried words and sentences.

Despite the strangeness of it all, the Keep’s reaction to Rilla’s absence was that of obvious worry, and while it didn’t seem to react entirely negatively to Damien (unlike some lizard), it nonetheless made it clear he wasn’t welcome to follow Arum when the beast entered more private chambers. Where the path was clear and unobstructed for Arum, thorny brambles would start to run across the floor if Damien tried to advance. At some point, the passage that had allowed Arum to enter in what looked like some leisurely quarter even simply disappeared, looking for all intent and purpose like a wooden wall until Arum came back through a reopened passage.

Damien was tempted to speak to that Keep, mind churning with a thousand questions. What was it? How long had it existed? Was it a monster? A spirit of the forest?

A woman, made one with the trees?

Would Rilla succumb to the same fate?

But he didn’t dare speak. In that warm hall, obviously a home and a protector to Lord Arum - maybe even to Rilla - Damien felt like an intruder. He was in the belly of a living beast, not even entirely welcome, and yet, he had never felt so safe as he did at this instant.

The Keep simply felt welcoming, like coming back into a warm home. It possessed some kind of gentle aura, like Damien had sometimes imagined the embrace of his own mother to feel. To be standing there, like a stranger - like a knight who’d been hunting beasts - clogged his throat with traitorous doubts; whistling serpents arguing against what he’d always known to be wise and just. It felt cold, to be standing inside such a warmth, and to know one had been like the harsh winds of winters, a danger to the peace and quiet of the inside. Fear gripped Damien at the twirling thoughts, and he felt like he might faint. What had he done, all these years? Had he killed the young and the innocents? Had he rendered fireplaces cold and deserted? Had he slaughtered the very kind of souls he’d thought he’d protected.

It couldn’t be, could it?

Had he been so blind?

What-

What had he done? The thought was stealing his breath, he needed to think, he needed to breathe. Saint Damien- Saint Damien, grant me your tranquility- your tranquility, please strengthen my feeble mind and show me-

“I’m done. Let’s go.”

Damien’s internal rant came to a screeching halt. He realized he’d been breathing hard, his throat and chest tight, and tried to calm himself down. The attempt was successful enough that he could only feel himself shake slightly when he turned back towards the lizard. Arum gave him what looked like a suspicious glare, but made no comment, only turning around, clearly expecting the knight to follow.

“Where are we going?” Damien asked, falling into steps with the monster.

 _This_ was important. This was what he’s here for, why he was colluding with a monster; betraying the edict of his Citadel. He needed to save Rilla and he couldn't let anything distract him in from that fact.

Lord Arum didn’t bother respond to him. Strangely enough, he wasn’t looking towards the entrance they came in, but rather at a featureless wooden wall. There was a beat of silence; but before Damien could repeat his questions, Arum growled out an order.

“Keep! Send us to the northern bound of the swamp.”

Damien watched, awestruck, as the Keep sang in response, and… _ripped itself open_. There really wasn’t any other way to describe it; although it didn’t reflect the gentle way the wood parted, as if inviting them into the tunnel it was creating for them.

Arum crossed this new threshold without a smidge of hesitation, and Damien yanked himself out of his trance to follow him before the lizard could notice his dazed state.

Despite the show, Damien did wonder a bit why it was deemed necessary to create what amounted to a new doorway, only to spare themselves the chore of rounding the Keep.

He was about to make that remark, when he realized the part of the jungle surrounding them weren’t at all familiar.

In fact, when he thought to look back behind him, where the door the Keep had opened had soundlessly closed, there was only the flat, humid expanse of the swamp, the tall, elegant form of the Keep barely visible in the distance.

Dizziness sized Damien as he realized his steps through the portal had brought him much farther than a simple doorstep.

His renewed amazement had to be cut short, however, because Lord Arum was already striding away with a set, tense expression on his alien features.

Right. Damien straightened.

He had no time to wonder about the new world opening before his eyes. He had no time to question the set of morals he’d lived by his whole life.

They had Rilla to save.

The rest would have to wait.

Sir Damien turned out to be surprisingly accommodating during the first part of their trek through the wild. Either he sensed Arum was very much not in the mood to talk, or the pallor his skin seemed to have taken ever since they left the Keep’s hall would turn indicative of some terrible illness and he was about to keel over behind Arum.

In any case, Arum was grateful for the relief. He tried not to feel _too_ concerned about the potential death of his tentative companion. From his various discussions with Amaryllis, he was relatively certain humans weren’t so fragile Damien was actually at risk of withering away before his eyes, and he could not even begin to think about caring for this knight when Amaryllis was at the grubby hands of the council.

The council... Arum forced himself to uncurl his hands before his nails could cut into his palms. Did they think they could just come in and take Amaryllis from him? Just so he’d cave in and abide to their schemes?

He could still do it, he couldn’t help but think. He’d just have to slip from under Damien’s attention long enough to call on his Keep and get back to his study. He could send them a letter saying he’ll do their weapon and to release Amaryllis immediately. She would come back home; come back to him, safe in his arms, in exchange for the doom of the human race. Arum could do it. It’s not like he cared about what happened to the Second Citadel and its soldiers… its inhabitants… the children… If it was for Amaryllis, he’d do it. He’d do anything if it meant having her back.

And she would _never_ forgive him.

She would be right not to.

He didn’t have a choice, really. If he failed to save Amaryllis - to free her from the clutch of those creatures that dared to call themselves monsters - without failing into their schemes, he’d lose her either way.

The thoughts looped around in his brain, an endless round of “what-ifs” and “maybes”, all of which Arum knew would get him nowhere. There was only one thing to do, one goal to achieve, and he couldn’t-

Suddenly, he felt his foot catch on a root on the ground. He tried to balance himself on the next step, only for his ankle to twist painfully in the soft earth, sending him right down the path.

Before he could fully realize what was happening, he felt himself tipping forward.

But instead of the wet, cold kiss of the muddy earth, he felt a warm hand curl around one of his right arms.

“Lord Arum?”

Purely out of reflex, Arum tried to yank his arm, only to stumble again. Damien crowded closer, his hands steadying him easily. Once again, Arum tried to free himself from the grip of the human, only to push against his ankle once more. He couldn’t help the muffled yelp as pain shot through his leg, and Damien’s hands only grew steadier.

“Lord Arum! Are you alright?”

“I am _fine_ .” he hissed. But _Sir Damien_ obviously did not listen, already rounding Arum and taking it onto himself to support Arum’s weight.

“Did you… sprain your ankle?”

Arum had to close his eyes at the humiliation. The human was much too close: his warm, callused hands curled around his torso in a _disgustingly_ helpful way; his voice tinged with a touch of bewilderment.

“I am _fine_.” Arum repeated, even as he began to lose any hopes the human would let it go. If there was something he’d learnt from Rilla, it was that she could outstubborn him any day of the week - and Arum had always thought himself fairly stubborn. It seemed, however, that he had failed to realize that trait might be shared across the human race, although now that seemed like a severe oversight on his part.

As expected, Damien didn’t listen, and Arum had no choice but to let himself be led down onto a protubing tree’s root nearby.

Damien wasted no time dropping down to his leg’s level to look at the offending limb, mumbling to himself all the while.

His hands felt warm, and somewhat calloused as he gently took hold of Arum’s naked foot; He seemed to be much less practised than Amaryllis, but his fingers were soft and precise nonetheless as they examined the injured limb, and for an instant, Arum forgot to protest the undignified treatment. Damien’s hands on him, despite not being the delicate and precise ones he was used to, brought back a familiar, comfortable warmth.

This was far from the first time he’d suffered from injuries. The first time he’d limped in front of Amaryllis, she'd immediately berated him for not properly taking care of himself and forced him and the Keep to get him to bed and stay there. She’d frowned over his ankles and the snapped bones for a few days before forming a theory. According to her observations: he had particularly fragile ankles, which she theorized was a result of him being slightly overbalanced by having too much weight to carry for two legs. Traditional lizards, she had said - her brow furrowed and that implacable scientific tone that made her both infuriating and the dearest thing to Arum’s heart - used four limbs to support their weight, which would explain why Arum’s body, with his more humanoid use of a bipedal walking cycle and additional set of limbs, suffered from a slight deficiency when it came to supporting his own weight. Ergo: bad ankles.

She wasn’t wrong either, as much as Arum was annoyed to admit. Arum was bound to feel his ankle twist from under him as a semi-regular occurrence, although ever since Amaryllis has started to take it upon herself to care for his well-being, the number of incidents has severely dropped. It would make for an awful amount of sense that Arum’s fragile limbs would fail him as soon as Amaryllis wasn’t there to remind him to take care of himself.

Damien’s hands on his fevered skin only reminded him of the domesticity of Amaryllis’ annoyed remontrances whenever Arum managed to hurt himself. Listening to her, you’d believe he was looking for any opportunities to stick his feet in holes and bear traps. It was easy to imagine Damien directing at him a similarly disappointed rant as he carefully bound Arum’s reluctant limb into the correct position.

The knight looked up for an instant, catching Arum’s intense stare, and gave a small grimace of a smile.

“You’ll need to rest your ankle a bit before walking on it, but overall you should be fine, it’s barely twisted.”

Arum caught the barely formed fantasy in the air and crushed it. Amaryllis’s comments obviously had wormed their way into his brain, but she’d been delusional and so had Arum. Damien and him were collaborating for now because the knight had some misguided notion that Amaryllis was a damsel in distress, but the line he and Amaryllis had been threading their whole life is already thinning, close to give way with a mean snapback. And Arum doubted a man so steeped in the notions Damien had shown could ever fit himself into the tiny corner of the world they made for themselves.

“We don’t have time for this.”

His hissed words sounded hollow to his own ears but the human in front of him didn’t seem to notice.

“We don’t have time for you to render yourself completely unable to move, either.” Damien said reproachfully. “You need to rest your ankle for at least an hour before you start walking on it again.”

“I didn’t realize I was in the presence of anything other than a brute.” Arum sneered, trying to mean the insult.

Damien either didn’t care or wasn’t fooled, and rolled his eyes.

“I’m not a doctor, but I’m a soldier. Do you really think this is the first time I’ve seen a twisted ankle? If you’re so concerned about saving Rilla, you should simply tell me where she is so I can rescue her.”

Arum hissed loudly.

“You’ll get her killed! Are you really so arrogant you think you can just barge in blindly and, what, kill a bunch of monsters and get away with no consequence whatsoever? You may pride yourself on preying on isolated beasts, but Amaryllis isn’t held in a cave this time!”

The human’s head snapped up. He opened his mouth - likely to protest - but Arum suddenly felt full of grievances and didn’t let him go any further.

“Is this a human… thing, to be so full of oneself? I don’t know why you’ve decided to pose as Amaryllis’ savior, but - despite what her name might suggest - she isn’t a delicate flower! If this was any other situation, she wouldn’t have any problem freeing herself. But _you_ think _you_ can do so much better, don’t you? Ah!”

He hissed the last word as if he was trying to get rid of the taste of that arrogance. Amaryllis had liked this human. She had thought Arum would like him too. She had argued in favor of the scent wafting off him, and Arum had had to agree - but now as they were stumbling through a journey together, to save Amaryllis no less - it seemed as though there were only paths shrouded in darkness, likely to lead them wrong or into… tripping.

Arum by himself - or even with the help of a human - couldn’t go against the whole council and hope to survive the endeavour. Amaryllis, as wonderful as she was, wasn’t much more equipped to deal with such an onslaught. Her only hope of escaping the council was simply to slip out from under their scrutiny.

And that scrutiny had everything to do with her relationship with Arum…

“Tell me, then.”

Damien’s voice wrenched him out of his somber musings. The human had a serious, sober expression on his face, and Arum felt a twinge of fear in his gut at the sight. Right now, with nothing but grim determination on his face; Damien very much looked like the soldier Arum only vaguely knew he was.

“So far, you’ve asked me to follow your lead but you’ve told me nothing about the situation. You’ve already shown me that you have a lot of power over these lands, this forest. If it were as simple as slaying a mindless beast, it would already be done. As far as I can guess, Rilla isn’t in immediate danger, because then you certainly wouldn’t have stopped for a slightly sprained ankle for _even a second_ , much less an hour. You know who kidnapped her and why, and since you think it has nothing to do with me, I’m guessing the kidnappers are monsters rather than human. But there’s only so much I can guess, and without actual information, I can’t help you as best as I can.”

Damien’s torso heaved with the big gulp of air he breathed in, almost as if he needed to inflate himself again after such a tirade. His air of determination wavered an instant, and his eyes darted away from Arum. Suddenly, he seemed to shrink from the powerful, scary knight he was, to the sorry size of a sapling begging for water.

“I know I acted rashly and was… quite rude to you the first time we met. You would be justified in thinking I cannot be trusted, but I do trust that you care for Rilla. I am sorry that I doubted it. I- well, I shouldn’t have. I really do want to help her- to help the both of you.”

Arum stayed silent for a few seconds, giving the knight a leveling look.The prideful, spiteful part of him wanted to refuse Damien’s help, to avenge himself for the knight’s arrogance and insults. But he knew full well he needed all the help he could get, and to see the knight so earnest and gentle, despite his trembling hands and timid gaze, did move that same place that had trembled and jumped at Amaryllis’ probing.

“Fine.” he finally said, the words coming out less harsh than he’d planned them to be. “I guess not _all_ humans are completely stupid. You better not interrupt me.”

“There’s a council of monsters at the northern edge of the world.” - immediately, Damien’s eyebrows shot up, but Arum sent him a glare, and he closed his mouth with a slight wince - “it isn’t the same as your rulers, your _Queen_ ” - he couldn’t help but sneer at the word and it was Damien’s turn to send him a reproachful look, but he didn’t interrupt - “Monsters believe in freedom above anything. However, those monsters have some powers, and if they want something… it can be hard to say no.”

He paused there, replaying the accusations the knight had thrown at him earlier. He hadn't cursed or imprisoned Amaryllis, but nonetheless, she’d been seized because of him… Would Damien accuse him once more?

Would he be wrong?

“They want something from you.”

Damien’s voice was softer than Arum has ever heard it before. When he looked up,the human’s gaze held a bit of that softness as well, almost like a gentle caress on Arum’s nape. It held nothing of the accusations he’d been so prepared to hear.

“They want me to create a weapon.” Arum looked away from Damien’s eyes, suddenly ashamed. There was something too gentle, too familiar in them. Instead he looked into the dark depths of the forest, looking at the shadows paving their way. “I’m an inventor. I get hired to create mechanisms and traps for other monsters. Most of my inventions are geared towards usefulness, or safety, but… that wasn’t always the case. They want me to create them a weapon to... defeat humanity” - he heard Damien’s intake of breath in front of him, and at the periphery of his vision, he could see the knight’s hand curl around the hilt of his sword. “something to make humans turn on their kin and destroy their own race from the inside out.”

“That’s-”

“I told them I refused to do it. That it wasn’t even possible.”

It was. Very little was out of reach for him and the Keep, as long as he could imagine it. A few years ago, he would have barely hesitated. He didn’t want to think what kind of destruction he could have brought had he not met Amaryllis.

“They didn’t believe me. They’ve been asking for a few years now. I think… they probably got tired of waiting for me to comply.”

For a moment, Damien looked like he was going to ask. Like the question was just on the tip on his tongue, ready to spill forth, in such a way that Arum could no longer deny the shame of his past. Then, the knight in him seemed to take precedence, as if he’d just shook himself from the thought, and his gaze grew calculating and serious.

“Rilla is a hostage for you to comply with their terms.”

Arum nodded.

Silence fell over them as Damien took it all in. He straightened up and stood in silence for what felt like long minutes, his face a mask of quiet, serious concentration. Finally, he nodded as well, as if responding to a silent question.

“Alright. You need to tell me everything you know about the council, and then, we need a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plan to post the next chapter at the very least on February 6th. I make no promise cause I learnt my lesson, but if you read this after the date an there's no 5th chapter, feel free to poke me (gently please) about it.
> 
> Otherwise, I really hope you all liked the chapter, and that people who read the beginning of this fic when it came out will appreciate this if they decide to read it.  
> I'm glad to be back :)


	5. Of the soul of a monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damien may try to follow a plan but his heart isn't

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a whole witty note but you're gonna have to take my word on that because it didn't save.
> 
> Did the work gain a chapter? I wouldn't know about that. It shoud at the most get 9 chapter though but you didn't hear it from me. Also this is probably going to be both my longest fic and my most edited fic when this is done, I have already fully rewritten two entire scene so I dearly hope it's good T_T
> 
> Much thanks to everyone who supported this work and commented it made me truly very happy <3
> 
> oh yeah, additional info: I lost my glasses and probably still won't be able to get new one for a week or so, which in theory is none of youall business but in practice means I can't spend as much time reading and writing so, yeah. Also might have effected my willingness to be super strict about like, the last part of that chapter. Hopefully there aren't horrible mega mistakes but you never know.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter as well

Rilla woke up cold and in a very bad mood.

Oh - and of course - in a cell.

“No better way to start the day” she muttered under her breath.

A bitter wind was rushing from a narrow, high window above her head. Coming into the cell, the wind made a whooshing sound, with something like a faint moaning at the center of it, as if the wind itself was alive.

Careful, Rilla pushed herself up, gingerly tracing the back of her head for the bump she was sure to have. It didn’t seem too bad, and since she didn’t feel immediately like vomiting when she got to her feet - the world around her only spinning slightly before it righted itself again - she gathered she was probably fine.

For now.

The corridor behind her bars was dark and silent, and trying to call for someone proved useless. Instead, she tried to peak outside of the window.

At first, it seemed like the angle was simply too sharp, and the fact that Rilla couldn’t see the ground didn’t particularly alarm her.

She was tall enough for her eyes to see the outward edge of the stone window when she gripped the bar and pulled herself up to her tiptoes. Holding herself up, she felt like she should be able to at least see the horizon. And yet, she couldn’t see any line breaking the expanse of the sky, the air blowing on her face cold in a way it never has been in the forest she called her home. There was nothing here to break the winds and offer shelter to her, the bar of the cell made only to keep her inside, not to keep anything out.

There was nothing here. Period.

And suddenly Rilla knew exactly where she was.

She released the bars of her prison to get away from the window. The cold seemed more biting all of a sudden, and she shivered, feeling the need to sit down to feel the firm, sturdy ground of the cell under her.

She was at the end of the world.

More specifically, she was right at its edge. As far as she could tell, she was even _above_ its infinite pitfall into nothingness.

She breathed erratically as she tried to summarize her situation. She knew the monster council had cells under the court. They surely never had made a secret of it. She had never thought those cells would literally be above the western edge behind the court, giving way to a fall that knew no end. The bars were wide and rusty enough she could probably break one of them and squeeze out of the opening. If she really wanted to, she had the choice to take her liberty in the form of a fall that would know no end. Total freedom indeed, she thought, with an edge of hysteria.

She couldn’t hear anything but the wind rushing through the corridor. She supposed - hoped - someone would think to give her some food eventually, but it seemed no one could be bothered to actually guard her cell too closely, and when she called for a guard, no one came.

The door of the cell looked secure- a lot more than the wall separating her from the void was, as if someone had decided to renovate the building but had stopped halfway through - and shaking it yielded no result. Maybe there was no need for guards because there is no way to get out of the cells. Trying to check for defects in the walls or the attachments was similarly pointless. It seemed she wouldn't be able to simply squirrel herself away.

She checked her pockets, and sure enough, it seemed her kidnapper - a shadow on her wall she hadn’t been fast enough to avoid - hadn’t thought to pat her down. In her pocket, she still had the small wooden box filled with the explosive compound she’d been working on recently. She had been trying to find a place to test it so that it wouldn’t actually destroy her house of the one she shared with Arum. Trying it on a tree would have been similarly destructive, if she believed the state of her now blackened table after trying a _tiny_ ball of it. Still, she wasn’t sure the amount she had would be quite enough to blow away the bars of her cell door, or the wall. And if it was… there was no guarantee Rilla herself would survive the explosion.

If she tried to explode her cell wall - and survived - and it failed, then she would have no more plans for her escape. Security might be subpar, but she was pretty sure somebody would notice the sound of an actual explosion, and then she’d have no more opportunity to escape.

She looked around but there didn’t seem to be anything else for her to do, so she sat back down on the meager little straw mattress - she had to battle with her own instincts to pull it away from the window and the infinite emptiness beyond - and tried to rest, thinking of plans to escape and of Arum, outside, surely on his way to find her.

She could imagine him, trudging through the forest, tripping on roots and cursing the very nature he spent so much time pretending he’s so fond of (Arum was very much fond of the idea of nature, sure, and he dutifully teneded to every green tendrils on his domain, but Rilla was certain he would easily spend all his time closeted up in the Keep were he able to get away with it). The notion of her lizard battling his way through the jungle had her smiling privately for an instant. But the smile died as soon as it appeared.

Arum was going to try and rescue her. As soon as he realized, he would cross the whole jungle and try to appeal to the council. Try to strike a deal and get her back. He wouldn't think to create a weapon for himself and get her with it because he would panic and immediately blame himself, only think of the trickling seconds she wasn’t free by his fault. If she knew him - and she did - he would jump at the chance to put himself in the line of fire for her. And she loved him for that, but she had a vested interest in him not walking into the not so metaphorical lion’s den. Therefore - the thought drew itself in her brain like the closing line of an equation for the perfect chemical reaction - she had to get out by herself before her cherished and beloved lizard put himself into harm’s way.

She had to find a way to get out before he came here, otherwise he would just end up as trapped as she was.

And that was very much something she refused to see happen.

Caroline got out of the throne hall gritting her teeth. Despite what her well-meaning but sheltered - and frankly, strategically incompetent - Majesty was suggesting, she did not, in fact, need any kind of leave. What she needed, if her Majesty had for ambition to be accomodating, would be to be either at a more prevalent post, or to be in charge of the recruiting of the Citadel’s knights, but this was not - so it seemed - the priority her Majesty the Queen had in mind.

Which was _fine_ . Because Caroline had worked too hard and too long for her post to become redundant, and so she had resolved not to lash out _too_ much at _Her Majesty the Queen_.

That didn’t mean she was any kind of happy about it. At least Quanyii would appreciate it, probably - assuming she was even home. She was constantly asking for attention as if Caroline didn’t have a full time job she was doing everything in her power to excel at, but then was herself a free enough spirit that Caroline couldn’t exactly count on her when she did have leave.

She was so busy quietly fuming - and resolving not to care as hard as she could - that she didn't notice the bulky knight in front of her until they bumped into one another.

“Hey! Can’t you-”

“Sir Caroline! I am so sorry! I didn’t see you there! Did you see the Queen today? I have to give a report but I fear she might in a mood again and-”

Caroline rolled her eyes at her fellow knight. As it stands, Angelo happened to be one of the most tolerable men in the guard - a feat, considering the guard was _entirely composed of men_ \- in that he was closer in temperament to an overeager puppy than any grown man had any right to be. He was dumb enough Caroline kept finding herself surprised his brain didn’t rattle in his skull every time he took one of his bouncing steps, but he was almost unbearably nice, and had only needed a few beating to the head to stop acting like she was a damsel in distress. Distressingly, Caroline had no choice but to admit to herself she actually _liked_ him. If Quanyii ever found out, there was the mortifying possibility that she might be proud of her.

However, while Angelo had revealed himself to be tolerable, he had the dreadful defect of constantly being accompanied by his much more annoying best friend. Said friend, though, was conspicuously absent from Angelo’s side.

“Sir Damien isn’t with you?” - she was not so rude as to refer to anyone, even those she did not like, with anything but their name, which was more consideration than what she knew she was granted by _some_ people.

“He isn’t back from his latest assignment yet!” Angelo announced with his usual bombastic cheer. He then started rambling about counts and challenge and friendship, but Caroline wasn’t listening anymore. Damien had made notice of the end of his mission and subsequent return to the Citadel more than four days ago. She was certain of it, because she was the very one who had the dubious honor of relaying the knight's updates to their Queen. From most other members of the guards, she wouldn’t have suspected a thing, but the way back to the town Damien had been sent to had been around a day and a half, and as much as it pained her to admit, Damien was more than competent enough to come back to the Citadel without pause, notwithstanding extreme circumstances. That he was so behind schedule seemed a bit odd.

Or was it? Damien wouldn’t be the first one of the knights to use his missions as an excuse to splurge a bit at the expanse of the Crown, to an extent that was generally somewhat tolerated from the defenders of the Citadel. But for all his faults - Caroline would argue there were many - Damien so far hadn’t seemed the type and…

Well.

Caroline couldn’t help but remember the discussion she’d overheard between her fellow knight and the Queen a few weeks past. She would have dismissed it as the weak-hearted remorse of a fragile soul come some time, but that Damien would choose this moment to start behaving strangely… Well, Caroline knew the answers to the questions he’d foolishly brought up to the Queen. Of course, what most people thought of as “monsters” were merely beasts, and Caroline knew better than to consider Quanyii as such, but at the same time, never would she make the mistake of thinking her human, either. If Damien had met such a monster as the witch Caroline had come to know and tolerate, maybe his tardiness had a very simple explanation, after all. Did that mean Damien would turn out to be a traitor?  
Caroline certainly didn’t think of herself as such. But then again, she didn’t know herself to be subject to the stream of emotionally fueled angst and drama Damien constantly exuded like a leaking faucet. 

Well, all of this was only conjectures. So far, even assuming Caroline was right about her assumptions, she had no reason to believe Damien would give any trouble to anyone but himself. If she was lucky, he would even get back before she was due to be on duty again.

“Hello?! Is _anyone_ here?!”

No response.

Rilla sighed and let go of the bars of her cell. She’d been in this prison for more than half a day by her count, and she had yet to see any guards, or have anyone bring her food. She was starting to wonder whether she’d been wrong to think the monster’s council wouldn’t let her starve to death.

“Jeez” Rilla startled at the sudden voice, much closer than she would have expected. “You make a lot of noise for such a little lady.”

There was a strange looking woman in front of her cell’s bars.

Well.

Woman.

The term might be generous. The creature in front of her looked feminine, as if it had been molded in the _figure_ of a woman, but its skin looked smooth and greenish, like the diaphanous stem of a flower, and its exposed arms were sprinkled with small, thorn-like protrusions. Her torso and legs were covered with a corset of leaves, but molded so close Rilla wasn’t quite sure the garment was actually separate from the body of the monster. Its feet were bare, and there, the green color of its skin bled into a muddy brown, like the color of warm, wet soil. What, however, made the difference between this creature and a human stark and obvious, was what would stand as its head. Its chin was shaped quite like a human would be, with a delicate (albeit still green) jaw, but its mouth was small and round, with barely the parody of lips encircling it. It was halfway closed, teeth-like thorns visible inside of it, looking sharp and vicious. The creature had no nose, and where its eyes should have been, started long, violently red petals pointing upwards. The petals covered the whole rest of its skull, from the top of its head to the beginning of its neck. There was no doubt this monster was no woman.

Rilla did not take a step back, but she shivered at the sight. The appearance of the monster before her was of a delicate cruelty, looking soft, fragile and beautiful like a flower, but also sharp and vicious like only invasive plants could be, full of thorns and with enough patience to tear down the mightiest of trees. All in all, Rilla had no doubt this creature would be more than able to tear her apart. And those sharp teeth made her think this particular rose might have more to its diet than simply water and sun.

“Do you even have eyes?” she responded - her answer might have been a bit too late to be called a retort, but she was proud, at least, that her voice didn’t shake - “How do you know I’m so little?”

The creature cocked her (its? Rilla didn’t quite know how to have a discussion with a potential mortal enemy concerning their gender) head to the side, so it seemed it at least had some kind of ears to hear Rilla with.

“I don’t need eyes to know you’re little.” The creature paused, then, admitted, in a tone that seemed almost sheepish “Pitley told me.”

Rilla raised an eyebrow. This flower monster didn't seem so scary after all. And if it couldn’t see her, that was probably to her advantage.

“I would assume you don’t need eyes to bring me food and a blanket then. I was assuming the council was smart enough to realize a hostage was valuable only while it is alive, but maybe that escaped you lot.”

At that, the monster’s teeth clicked together, producing an unsettling sound. Immediately, Rilla regretted her flare in temper. Obviously, no monster charged with guarding a prison would be cowering before her, and having them be personally annoyed with her probably wasn’t the best move.

“I have food,” the monster growled.

And indeed, it had brought out some kind of basket. Inside was a full waterskin, a small loaf of bread and a few berries. It wasn’t much, but Rilla figured she could make it last upwards to two days, if she’s parsimonious enough with it. The monster shoved the bag between the bars of the cell door, and Rilla hesitantly took the bag, careful not to touch the pointy fingers of the creature.

“Why do you need a blanket? It’s not _that_ cold.”

“Maybe not for _you_ .” Rilla forced her tone to be somewhat diplomatic, but it would be really useful for her to have some kind of fuel for her little bomb, and apart from that, she wasn't really lying - the cold _was_ getting to her, and while she didn’t have signs of hypothermia _yet_ , she could feel that battling against the cold was weakening her body considerably. If she couldn’t find a way to make herself warm, she might not even have the energy necessary to flee the place when she found a chance to escape. “If I don’t have a blanket, I might get sick and die. So if you want to keep me alive and make a deal with Arum, you better bring me one.”

The rose monster let out a loud hiss, and Rilla shivered at the sound, but she was careful to let out no sound, and in turns the creature didn’t seem to particularly notice her flinching.

“I don’t have time to take care of a puny human.” Grumbled the monster. The remark didn’t seem to be exactly directed at Rilla but she responded to it anyway.

“Well, what do you think will happen to you if the Helicoid Judge hears that you let me die and tanked his deal with Lord Arum?”

The monster hissed again, but this time Rilla was prepared for it, and didn’t let it get to her. She had gotten used to Arum’s antics, she thought, and meeting him she had been similarly doubtful about his willingness to let her live, but she’d discovered quickly enough Arum was the farthest from a warrior, and even if he was surely much stronger than Rilla by simple virtue of his frame, he was hardly the fiercest of opponents. This monster might look scary, but she knew better than to think it actually meant they were all that fierce or dangerous, and Rilla would be a fool to let her nerves get the best of her for no actual reason.

The creature must have sensed, somehow, that Rilla wasn’t folding down and bending to her will, because the flutter in its petal faded away, and she stopped making that horrible hissing sound.

“Fine.” It growled out, and without another word, turned around and disappeared into the dark corridor.

Rilla waited a few seconds more, listening to the wind rushing in and the way it echoed in the silence of the cells’ circuit. But there was no more indication that there was anyone with her in the corridors, and she let herself slide down the wall.

“You killed him. You killed me.” She says it matter-of-factly, with a cold note of disinterest and faint disgust.

Arum reaches for her - hoping to help, hoping to do… anything - but her expression turns hard, and her burnt hand slaps his away.

“Don’t touch me, you _monster_!” Arum stumbles back into the dirt. He loses sight of Amaryllis for only an instant, but it’s enough, and she’s gone. He can’t see her anymore, and behind him the roar of the monster crowd rises again, in a victorious chant. The sound gets clearer and clearer, and Arum can hear his name.

“Lord Arum! Lord Arum!”

They’re chanting his name.

Right.

He did this.

All of of it.

“Lord Arum! Lord Arum! _Arum!”_

Arum startled awake. There were hands around his collar, and he gripped the assailant with a hiss, prepared to -

“ _Arum!_ ”

He blinked dumbly at the knight in front of him.

“Sir Damien.”

Sir Damien blinked back. His hands felt warm under Arum’s, and he suddenly realized he’d been gripping the human. He released him quickly, hoping with all his heart that the human couldn’t tell how embarrassed he was based on the way his frills fluttered behind his head. Sir Damien seemed to realize he was holding Arum as well, and slowly eased his hands away from his collar. Arum missed the warmth.

Damien cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Um. You were, having a nightmare. I think? You seemed… upset.”

Arum didn’t quite know what to say to that. He would have gotten annoyed at Damien being able to see him in such a state, but it was a bit too late to save appearances.

“Thank you.” is what he finally settled on.

Damien gave him a sympathetic grimace, and awkwardly got up, pushing against the tree behind Arum. He was close enough that Arum could smell him again, clear and unmuddled, although he did also smell of the earth and the heavy humidity of the jungle. But under that, Arum could recognize his flowery scent, strangely sweet and sugary.

“Honeysuckles,” he suddenly remembered what the scent reminded him of. A sweet and fragile looking flower, yet fierce and tough, hard to uproot and gripping to the soil with stubborness.

“What?”

“Nothing!” Arum’s hackles flared up in embarrassment and Damien seemed to tense up, looking at them with wariness. Desperately, Arum wished he could get them to go down at will. Thankfully, though, they started to drop by themselves before he had to forcefully try and flatten them by hand. 

He cleared his throat in embarrassment, looking away from the knight now looking more confused than ready to get his sword out.

The silence stretched for an instant longer, before Damien broke it with a tentative voice.

“You slept for around two hours. Is your ankle alright?”

Arum grabbed the opportunity to look at anything but Damien, and gingerly began to push on the limb. The day before, Damien had had to force him to take frequent breaks so that he wouldn’t worsen the state of his ankle. Even then, Arum had insisted that they travel well into the night, and had only agreed to take an actual break - with some sleeping - when he’d estimated there were under an hour of the council. Damien’s own fervour to free Rilla had battled against the decision, but he knew, as a soldier, that they needed to be some kind of well rested if they wanted any chance at succeeding.

But seeing Lord Arum - a monster Damien had thought stoic and cruel - reduced to such a restless, anxious mess, all for the sake of Rilla… Damien couldn’t quite deny the surge of protectiveness the sight awakened in him.

He’d made use of every pause he’d forced a grumpy lizard totake, to ask of Arum everything he knew about the council, and his plan to free Rilla. The amount of information Arum had been able to tell him was however much meagre than what Damien had hoped for. Arum’s plan to rescue his beloved had been similarly sober and void of details. The seat of the council didn’t technically belong to anyone, Arum had told him, it was a relic from ancient time tracing back to a trio of saints that had helped the monsters face an assault from the humans, or so the legends said. (At that point, Arum had caught the uneasiness on Damien’s face and had exasperatedly told him that while, yes, he knew the humans had similar belief, all of this was only an old legend, and that there was no reason to believe either retelling had happened. Damien had had to swallow his fervent defense of saint Damien - his existence and his feats - and Arum had gone on with his speech.) As such, it had often been abandoned and left at the uncaring hands of mother nature, no singular monster caring enough to actually put effort in the conservation of the edifice.

The council, in a similar way, wasn’t a well established institution. Monsters believed in freedom above all, and didn’t care for any kind of hierarchy. However - and Damien had been surprised to recognize a sneer of Arum’s face as he said this - that didn’t keep some from being more powerful than others, and from imposing their will on their less fortunate peers. The council was thus comprised of a bunch of those monsters, the most notable being a slug calling himself “Judge Helicoïd” who delighted in putting other monsters “on trial” for defying him. The result was the sorry circus of supposedly free-willed monsters orbiting around the so-called judge to avoid his wrath. From Arum’s tone, there was no need to mention he very much didn’t participate in such a charade.

Helicoïd, a few years ago, had decided to take the seat of the council for himself. The batiment was huge, seemingly the seat for an ancient, actual monster gouvernement seat, or something similar, but Helicoïd only used what was now called “the courtroom”, and a series of tunnels that had been turned into a prison. The courtroom was where there would be the most monsters, assembled to assist to one more of Helicoïd’s senseless “trial”, and Rilla most likely was kept in the prison, no other place of the aging building left sturdy enough to hold her.

Arum’s original plan, as far as Damien had been able to gather, was simply to let himself be captured by Helicoïd in exchange for Rilla’s being freed. Then, he’d have simply refused to make the weapon Helicoïd demanded of him, and made his escape as soon as he could. Damien had not meant to make his silence at that quite so pregnant, but Arum had obviously caught his dubious air, and his frills had flared with anger. There were only two of them, Arum had pointed out, his speech slightly slurred by a hissing anger. What genius plan did the knight of the Citadel have to free Amaryllis, if Arum’s was such a disappointment?

Arum was testing his ankle, carefully putting more and more weight on it. Without thinking, Damien extended a hand to help the lizard up. Arum stared, and Damien suddenly realized his mistake, smiling uneasily to hide his embarrassment.

“Lord Arum?” he said, cursing his voice for coming out so squeaky.

“Ah,”

Arum’s hand was warmer than Damien would have expected. His palm was a smooth, firm expanse, but the texture of his scale was surprisingly soft, and while his grip was firm, it was obvious he took great care in keeping his sharp nails away from Damien’s comparatively fragile skin. He pulled the lizard up, but somehow, Arum was lighter than he expected, and stumbled into Damien a bit. Reflexively, Damien put a hand up to steady his companion, only to find his firm, defined chest, only separated from Damien’s palm by the flimsy cloth he has hanging from his shoulders. He could feel the beat of Arum’s heart, strong and fast against his palm, and Arum’s slow, deep breath. For an instant, Damien’s mind focused solely on the connection between them.

Then, Arum found his footing again, and took a step back. Immediately, Damien realized how inappropriate he’d been, and he could feel his face heat up instantly with embarrassment. Arum’s stare felt like a burning brand on his skin, and the frills on his neck were starting to flutter again. Surely he thought this punny humain was getting a pinch too comfortable with him… Damien hastily dropped his hands and averted his gaze.

“Uhm. We should go.”

Arum let the silence stretch for a beat, his gaze heavy on Damien’s neck.

“We should.”

He took the lead, his gate easy, and seemingly unbothered by his hurt ankle. Damien hoped the mouvements were as effortless as they looked, and that Arum wasn’t hiding his pain for the sake of their goal. The lizard certainly had tried to do so several times the previous day. Damien had heard him grumble more than once when he’d forced him to take a break.

Their current plan was hardly better than the one Arum had elaborated on his own. Trying to take on the seat of the council was undeniably easier with two people rather than one, but it still seemed like an almost impossible task.

One thing was clear : for Rilla, Arum was ready to try anything. Damien could hardly blame him. They only had to follow the admittedly poor plan they’d thought of, and hope for the best.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” he asked Arum's back.

“Not that I see how that’s any of your concern,” the lizard replied without so much as glancing back, “but I’ll be just fine. You take care of making sure Amaryllis gets out unharmed. I’ll meet you back at the Keep.”

Damien didn’t quite dare prob more. When he’d tried the previous day, Arum had simply stared at him, and pointedly informed him his narrow human mind wouldn’t be able to understand the answer. Damien had had half a mind to challenge the lizard to a duel and wash the words out of his mouth, but the ferocious beast in front of him by then had been in the process of delicately examining his injured ankle, and Damien hadn’t had the heart to stay mad.

Somehow, in under a day, Damien had been forced to admit everything he’d thought Arum to be: malicious, deceitful and dangerous, had turned out to be misconceptions. Most of them, he was ashamed to admit, due to a deep-rooted belief he’d had condemning all and every monster he’d ever met with. Arum wasn’t any of those things. Damien had never been the best at deciphering the intricacies of other people’s emotions, but even he could tell that Arum was grumpy, awkward, and softer and kinder than most knights Damien had met. He cared about Rilla more than Damien had seen a lot of human care for their spouse or children, and while he seemed to be constantly mad at the world in general and at nature in particular, he always took care to gently displace and replace the plants in their way rather than carelessly bullying his way through the jungle. He slept curled on himself as if he was missing something precious to hold onto and he shivered through the night with nightmares. Damien doubted the lizard would appreciate it, but to him, it seemed as though there was some precious, fragile humanity to Arum’s monstrosity.

Then again, maybe it had nothing to do with being a monster or a human.

They got into view of the building Arum has designated as the Monster’s council - their target - much too fast. It loomed in the fading light of the day, huge and imposing. It looked beautiful, as well, its shell-like spire shooting into the air with panache. But despite how impressive it looked, in its walls were the obvious marks of the wear and tear Arum had described earlier; fissures, some shallow, some deep, marked the building like so many wrinkles. Nonetheless, it remained the goal of Damien's quest, and he ought not to let himself be distracted by the diminutive state of the place.

It wasn’t quite that Damien was worried. Not for himself at least. He was impatient to finally be able to free Rilla. If Arum’s assumptions were right, and the monster or monsters that had kidnapped her had a way to travel faster than usual means - if not instantaneously, but Damien was a bit scared of the implications of that specific capacity - then she’d been imprisoned for almost two days by now, and Damien’s heart would only truly be at ease when she would be freed and safe.

But it wasn’t a good plan. They didn’t have much leverage to use, and while Damien would do everything - would give everything - to save Rilla, he couldn’t actually be certain of the outcome. Even if he saved Rilla, there were so many factors he couldn’t account for.

Arum at his side was staring at the silhouette of the building, a low hiss passing through his scaly lips.

“Sir Damien, once I’ve gone inside, wait for a few minutes. We need to be sure Helicoïd and his… followers are thoroughly distracted so you can access the prison with minimum fuss. As soon as it seems you’ve managed to break out, I’ll slip away and we’ll meet back at the Keep, as we discussed, understood?”

The stare the lizard directed at him was back to being the icy, hard stare he’d been met with the previous day - and how much longer it felt, had it really only been a day?

Arum wasn’t only much more human than Damien had given him credit for, he was soft and gentle in a way Damien would never have expected in a monster. The lizard didn’t make it obvious, far from it - and more than once Damien had thought he’d get a chunk of his flesh bitten off for saying the wrong thing to his companion - but in the short time they’d been together, he had already come to see beyond his prickly exterior glimpse of an awkward, gentle soul, stubborn to a fault, and decided to apply this stubbornness to care for what he held dear. Damien couldn’t pretend he didn’t admire each and every one of these qualities.

Arum cared for plants and - similarly to Damien - felt a strong pull toward some kind of rhythm of the universe. Although Arum talked about it in terms of a magic and a song a human like Damien seemingly couldn’t understand, while himself knew it as the spirit of a saint and the inspiration behind the poetry he so cherished.

Lord Arum wasn’t even a warrior. He was used to the wilderness and had grown in it, but he looked uneasy settling into the woods for the rests Damien had forced them to take, and he seemed almost… dainty about everyday things that Damien certainly wouldn’t have expected any monster to be.

Fierce? Not really. Petty and cattish and rude? Certainly.

Noble, and thoughtful, and strangely insightful? Well… Damien could attest that those were qualities he had never thought he’d find in any monster.

Anxious.

Caring.

Gentle.

Beautiful.

It wasn’t… It wasn’t much, of course, but… Damien could maybe see what Rilla saw in that monster. He could understand, now, why she would be enamoured with such a beast. Arum wouldn’t have needed any nefarious plot to win her over. He was just as-

It made sense.

And yet, he still didn’t know what Arum would do once they had rescued Rilla.

“You-” Damien started to say, and he saw a frown appear on the lizard’s scaly face. “Well I- I mean,” Damien took a breath, held it, started over.

“Lord Arum,”

The lizard turned towards him. He was much taller than Damien, standing over a head taller, but for an instant, he looked almost diminished. For an instant, Damien thought he saw some hints of uncertainty and fear in those beautiful, purple eyes. But then he blinked and it was gone, so thoroughly erased from Arum’s expression Damien wasn’t sure it had been there at all.

“I should- well- that is to say…” Arum did this thing sometimes, turning up his snouty mouth, that made Damien think if he was human he’d be quirking one of his eyebrows. Damien lost himself in it for an instant before reminding himself they didn’t have much time - they were much too close to the council, much too susceptible to discovery - “I wanted to give you… an apology for… the things that I said. It was wrong of me, and I shall not make such assumptions again.” He was picking up steam, feeling his heart swell with every little thing he’d noticed about Arum over those few days. There should be poetry made about Arum: his easily assumed nobility, his delicate, dexterous hands, and the creation birthed by them; his eyes, and his mouth, and - Damien didn’t have the time to think up any of those, and he’d just realized he might want to. “I don’t think you bewitched Rilla. I understand why...you- well, I think I understand better now.”

Arum looked at him, seemingly startled.

“Well, I- thank you… Damien.” Was there something soft in his tone? Arum had never called him without his title. Was he wrong to think it a sign of fondness? “It has been, ah… it has been a pleasure getting to know you, Damien.”

“For me as well.”

Damien’s heart beat wildly in his chest. They had to part now, they couldn’t delay any longer. Rilla needed them. But he was more conscious than ever that he might not see Arum again once their present adventure was over.

“Lord Arum,” he said again, the words sweet and bitter on his tongue “please be careful.”

Arum nodded, and then, was on his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note about Rilla's explosive: I know in canon she made powder, but I don't see why she couldn't make plastic explosive as well, and it was more convenient for me, so there,
> 
> Next chapter SHOULD be up on february 13th, but I have a birthday in the meantime, so it's not a certainty.


End file.
